


flowers in your hair (boys can't be pretty)

by prettyluke (buttonjimin)



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Feminization, Flower Crowns, Fluff and Angst, Growing Up, Homophobia, M/M, Masturbation, Mild Smut, Phone Sex, Secret Relationship, Slow Burn, also hella sad, also very brief, ashton likes luke, hella cute i promise, i'm embarrassed i had to type that, luke likes girly things, side malum, they spend a lot of time in the daisy fields
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-30
Updated: 2015-10-14
Packaged: 2018-04-06 22:41:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 9
Words: 71,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4239360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttonjimin/pseuds/prettyluke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ashton has been in love with the pretty boy next door since he was seven.<br/>Luke has called Ashton home since he was five.<br/>They grew up with the daisy field behind their houses, but nobody told them that they couldn't love anywhere else.</p><p>based on after the storm by Mumford and Sons</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. we were just kids in love

_July 2002_

Ashton can hardly remember a time before Luke.

Luke skips into his life when Ashton is seven, when he moves in next door a week before Ashton’s eighth birthday. Ashton stands in his front yard and watches as they unload the moving trucks. There’s a mother, like Ashton’s, a father—like Warwick, he supposes—and three boys, tumbling out of the car, all with sunkissed blond hair and lanky, spindly limbs. The middle boy looks to be around Ashton’s age, by his best estimate, but he has eyes only for the youngest.

He’s _pretty_. Almost girlishly so, with soft marble skin and the brightest blue eyes Ashton has ever seen. There’s something nearly feminine about his face, all those gentle lines and none of the ragtag mischief his brothers display. They’re up and running, racing, wrestling, shoving each other as they make their way to the new house alongside the moving men. The littlest one skips up the stone pathway, doing hopscotch and taking his time. His thin hands stretch out at his sides, keeping his balance as he jumps across the narrow concrete.

Ashton thinks that even though he’s seven, and hasn’t seen very many boys in his life, this boy is probably the prettiest one he’s ever seen.

Ashton has spent the first seven years of his life moving around with his mum and taking care of his little sister, and he generally thinks his life is okay, but he hasn’t devoted much time to thinking about boys, or girls for that matter, and is racking his brain to think of another time he called someone else pretty, even in his head. He comes up with nothing, and when the boy notices him staring, he’s still trying to rationalize it.

The boy stops hopping at the end of the path and folds his hands in front, smiling right at Ashton. It’s the kind of smile that could light up the empty space, the kind of smile that works its way to your heart and completely melts you.

Ashton realizes that he’s gaping and rushes to fill the silence. “Hi. I’m Ashton. I, um, live next door.”

The boy raises a tentative hand, blushing. “Luke,” he says, smiling with his teeth this time and revealing that he’s missing his front two.

Ashton doesn’t know what to say, and neither does Luke, apparently. They’re saved when Luke’s mother calls him to come inside and help unpack. Luke waves quickly and hurries into the house, heeding his mother’s call.

Ashton watches him go, and goes back into his own house. His baby sister is in her high chair eating her cereal (or more accurately, splashing the milk and cheerios onto the tray) while his mother tries admirably to get some of it in her mouth. She looks up when she hears Ashton come in, a bit of cereal in her hair.

“There you are,” she says. “Did you see the new neighbors?”

Ashton nods. “They have three boys. One of them might be close to my age, I don’t know.” He hesitates by the doorway of the kitchen. “The youngest one is named Luke. He’s pretty.”

His mother’s forehead wrinkles in concern. “Pretty?”

“Yeah,” Ashton says, uncertain suddenly. “Pretty.”

“No, hon, girls are pretty,” she says patiently. “Boys can’t be pretty.”

Ashton doesn’t understand that at all; he can’t think of another word to describe Luke. But his mother said he was wrong, and he hasn’t ever heard someone call a boy pretty before, so he must be wrong.

“Okay,” he says, nodding. “I guess pretty is the wrong word.”

His mother smiles at him. “Go find something to do with yourself, yeah? Gotta finish feeding Lauren.”

Ashton scrambles off to his room to find something to do, repeating to himself _boys can’t be pretty_ , but for some reason, whenever he thinks about Luke, the only word that comes to mind is _pretty_.

 

* * *

 

Ashton’s mother invites Luke and his brothers to come to Ashton’s birthday party a week later, after they’ve settled. Ashton isn’t worried about Jack and Ben, since they’re older and can take care of themselves (turns out neither of them are his age, although Jack is just a year up and Ben is two), but Luke is only 5 and he speaks with a lisp thanks to his missing teeth, and Ashton is justifiably afraid that since Luke doesn’t know anybody and is so shy, he’ll be miserable. He’s having a party at the local indoor rock climbing center.

The center sends a few people to come and belay for all the kids and brief them on what to do. _Don’t go up on the wall unless someone is there to belay you. Don’t climb higher than your comfort zone. If you want to come down, you can just let go and rappel down the wall. Make sure to let your instructor know. Wear your helmet at all times._

Ashton has been here before; Warwick took him, and he knows the ropes. Luke, on the other hand, has clamped down on his lower lip sans his front teeth and his brow has furrowed in concentration; he’s quiet and serious, and Ashton hopes he’ll get the chance to lighten him up.

They split them up into two groups. Ashton corrals Luke into his group, while Jack and Ben get herded into the other group. With them out of the picture, Ashton decides if anything happens he’ll just have to protect Luke.

The instructors start them off on an easy wall, which everyone climbs with no effort. They slowly escalate the degree of difficulty, until they’re ready to climb some of the bigger walls. They still aren’t allowed on some of the hardest ones, but Ashton understands.

“Who wants to go next?” one of the instructors asks when his previous kid comes down. Ashton nudges Luke.

“You wanna go?”

Luke blinks up at Ashton, eyes big. He looks a bit nervous. “I—I could.”

“You don’t have to,” Ashton assures him, touching his arm lightly. “It’s okay if you don’t want to.”

For some reason, this seems to make up Luke’s mind. He steps forward and says, albeit a little uncertainly, “I’ll go.”

The instructor begins harnessing Luke up, attaching buckles and rope. Luke’s vision is fixed on the wall in front of him. He’s determined to climb it. He’s easily the smallest child in the group, especially since he’s the youngest, and Ashton hopes he can do it.

Luke starts up the wall. His small knuckles pop as he grasps the handholds. His feet slip a few times, and Ashton holds his breath. None of the other kids seem too affected, and Ashton knows that he’s being ridiculous. He can’t help it. He’s only known the kid for a week, but he’s drawn to him, he’s attached and he doesn’t know why.

Luke makes it far above their heads, higher than Ashton expected, but the wall’s protrusions meant for stepping on and grabbing are gradually spacing further and further apart, and he has to stop.

“Do you want to come down?” the instructor asks, noticing his stagnant progress. Luke nods. “Alright, let go of the wall.”

It looks like everything will be fine until Luke actually looks down, and then it’s impossible to catch the flash of sharp white fear that crosses his face. He grips the wall ever tighter, suddenly frozen.

“I can’t,” he says quietly, and hugs close to the wall. “I—I’m stuck.”

Ashton silently pleads for him to just let go and come down.

“Come on,” the instructor says steadily. “I’ve got you.”

But Luke is terrified of the height he has reached, and his voice starts to waver. “I c-can’t.”

“Just let go. I promise you won’t fall.”

Luke’s lower lip trembles and his eyes mist over. Ashton realizes exactly how much younger he is. Ashton has two years and an odd maturity on him. Ashton is big, strong. Luke is little and scared. Ashton looks around for Jack or Ben, but they’re nowhere to be found.

“Let me go up,” he begs the other instructor beside them. “I can get him down.”

The instructor initially refuses, thinking it unnecessary. But as time passes and Luke shows no signs of coming down, the instructor relents, although seems to have little faith.

Ashton climbs steadily and quickly, careful but feeling the urgency of helping Luke. He can do it. He can protect Luke. His motivation gets him up the wall in record time.

He reaches Luke, just a foot away. Luke is clinging to the wall, tears filling his eyes. His fingers are strained over the rock, desperately holding on.

“Luke,” Ashton says, earning his attention. “You can do it. I’ll come down with you.”

“I’m scared,” Luke says, his voice high-pitched in effort not to outright cry.

“I know. But I’ve got you,” Ashton promises. “We’ll go down together. Do you trust me?”

Luke nods, sniffling. “Yeah.”

“I promise it’s safe, and you won’t fall. We’ll let go of the wall together. You’re not going to fall.”

Ashton calls down to the instructors to get ready. Luke looks at Ashton tremulously with huge eyes. “Promise?”

“Promise,” Ashton says. “I will never lie to you.”

“Okay,” Luke says quietly.

“Let’s let go,” Ashton says. “On the count of three. One, two—three.”

They let go, and Luke nearly collapses when he reaches the ground. His knees buckle, but Ashton reaches out to steady him. Luke is trembling.

“Wanna go to the bathroom?” Ashton offers quietly enough for only them to hear.

“Yeah.” Luke sniffles and lets Ashton pull him towards the bathrooms.

Inside, Ashton wipes up his tears with a paper towel and pulls him in for a hug. “You didn’t have to go up so high,” Ashton says almost scoldingly.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “Did I ruin your birthday party?”

His wide blue eyes are fringed with big golden lashes. Pretty. “No,” Ashton hurries to say. “Everyone gets scared.”

Luke seems slightly mollified by this, and pulls himself together. “You can go back out now. I’m okay.”

“Don’t be silly,” Ashton says. “Let’s find something to do. I hate rock climbing anyway.”

It’s a lie, but the relieved look on Luke’s face removes any doubts he had.

 

* * *

 

_August 2002_

It’s Ashton’s first sleepover at Luke’s house, and he wants it to be perfect. He’s packed his favorite rocket ship pajamas and his teddy bear, and his mum has helped him get his toothbrush and toothpaste neatly packed away in a ziploc bag. He’s nervous; there are butterflies playing in his stomach, but he’s also excited.

“Ashton! Are you ready?”

Ashton zips up his bag and runs down the hall to where his mother waits, ready to walk him next door. He carries his bag on his back, eager to go. “Can we walk to Luke’s now?”

“Sure, let’s get going.”

Warwick calls out, “Have fun, Ash,” and Ashton smiles brightly and waves goodbye. His stomach flutters again.

His mum opens the front door and lets him go first before following him out and locking the door behind them. The weather is still somewhat chilly, and Ashton zips up his jacket as they walk. It’s a little warmer that way, but Ashton’s still glad the walk is so short.

When they arrive at Luke’s house, Luke’s father opens the door to let them in. Ashton’s mum waits on the porch. “Now, call me if you need something, and have fun,” she tells him, kissing the top of his head as she pulls him in for a hug. “Bye, baby.”

Ashton smiles and goes on tiptoes to kiss her cheek. “Bye, Mum. See you tomorrow.”

“Be a good boy now, alright?”

“I promise.”

“See you tomorrow, love.” She turns and steps off the porch, starting the walk back to their house.

Ashton takes a deep breath as Luke’s dad shuts the door. There’s no going back.

Luke runs down the stairs with a big smile on his face, clearly pleased to see Ashton. He takes this as a good omen. “Hey! You came!”

“Of course I came,” Ashton says. “Where do I put my sleeping bag?”

“In my room, but you can just sleep in my bed if you want. It’s too big for me.”

Luke bounds eagerly up the stairs, and Ashton follows. He’s never been in Luke’s room, seeing as they took a few weeks to move in and get settled. They came over once for dinner, but it was before Ashton’s party and Luke had spent the whole evening glued to his brothers’ side.

Luke’s room is along the lines of what Ashton anticipated. It’s nothing like Ashton’s room; the walls are a pastel purple and his bedspread is a light blue floral. There are little butterflies spread along his wall. “This is my room. I keep my toys over there and sometimes we have tea parties.” Ashton notices the little table with a couple of chairs and a tea set. “Wanna have a tea party?”

“Sure, yeah,” Ashton says, and Luke giggles and pulls out a chair.

“This is my favorite tea set,” Luke says. “I have two. The other one has blue paint, but I like this one better.” The tea set is painted with pink and red roses. “Pink is my favorite color. What’s yours?”

“Red.”

“Red?”

“It’s the color of my favorite teenage ninja turtle,” Ashton says, grinning.

“I don’t watch that show,” Luke says, nodding sagely, “but Jack likes Michelangelo. Do you take sugar in your tea?”

“Two spoons, please.”

Luke spoons imaginary sugar into Ashton’s cup. “Milk?”

“Yes please. Who do you usually have tea parties with?”

“My mum, or my stuffed animals,” Luke says, and then wrinkles his nose. “Jack used to when I was younger, but he thinks it’s too girly now. Ben never did. Dad is too busy. Mum says I serve the best tea.” Luke smiles proudly.

They “drink tea” for about fifteen minutes before Luke says, “Let’s go downstairs.”

Ashton is quickly figuring out that Luke, given that he’s on his own and he’s getting comfortable with Ashton, is a firecracker of energy when he wants to be. He likes grabbing Ashton’s hand and pulling him all over the place. Now, he drags Ashton downstairs and into the kitchen.

“Luke, let go of him,” his mother scolds when he skids in. “And stop running around. Ashton looks exhausted.”

“It’s fine,” Ashton reassures her vehemently. If Luke wants to hold his hand and take him places, well, wherever Luke goes, he’ll follow.

“Can we watch a movie?” Luke asks, jumping up and down and tugging on his mother’s hand.

“I’ll go set something up. Andy, will you get them some popcorn?”

Luke’s dad rises from where he sits at the dining room table and comes to the kitchen to pull out popcorn and stick it in the microwave.

Luke drags a stool to the microwave. Ashton watches him quizzically. Luke climbs up to the top step and watches, entranced, as the popcorn starts popping and the bag expands. Ashton thinks it’s cute, the way he presses his hands to the window and looks at it with so much concentration. When the popcorn stops popping, Luke cries, “Aha!” and yanks open the microwave, eagerly grabbing the popcorn. He immediately withdraws his hand with a yelp, shaking it.

Ashton giggles. “You can’t just grab it. It’s hot.”

“I know,” Luke says, pouting a bit. Ashton takes it carefully out of the microwave and opens it away from him, making a face as the steam nearly hits his face.

When they settle down for bed that night, Luke says he likes Ashton’s rocketship pajamas and Ashton says he likes Luke’s fairy sleep t-shirt; Luke curls up close to the wall and tugs Ashton in after him, burying his face affectionately into Ashton’s neck and whispering, _Goodnight, Ash._

Ashton doesn’t know how he ever lived without Luke right beside him.

 

* * *

 

_December 2002_

“Let’s make cupcakes,” Luke suggests when Ashton comes over during the Term 4 hols. Ashton has learned a lot about Luke in the past months; Luke’s sweet, but he’s also excitable, a firecracker of energy and ideas. Despite being younger, he steers the relationship. Being with Luke is like being on a carnival ride, all the time.

“We can’t use the stove,” Ashton says immediately. “Nobody’s home.”

“Jack’s home. We’ll ask him.” Luke widens his eyes in the way he already knows will get Ashton melting. “I really want cupcakes.”

Ashton, as expected, gives in, but as always, he’s happy to do so. He’ll do anything Luke asks him to. They run up the stairs to Jack’s bedroom, bursting in without warning. Jack mutters something obscene; he’s ten now, and thinks he’s twenty. Luke explained this strange phenomenon some weeks earlier, the way Jack, in a way Ben never had, had slowly started distancing himself from the family and acting more boyish. This meant making fun of Luke’s butterfly walls and still frequent tea parties, swearing obscenely, and pretending he didn’t know the entire family out in public. Ashton thinks it highly unlikely that he’ll want to supervise a six and eight year old trying to bake cupcakes.

“Get out of my room,” Jack complains, throwing a pillow at them both. “Go play somewhere else.”

Luke hops up on Jack’s bed. “We want to make cupcakes. We need you to help us use the stove. We promise we won’t bother you after this.”

Jack shakes his head. “Get lost, Luke. I have better things to do.”

“Jack,” Luke whines, laying his head on his shoulder. “I won’t bother you. You can have my allowance this week.”

“Try a month,” Jack scoffs.

“Will you do it? You can eat the cupcakes too. Please?”

Jack groans melodramatically and rolls his eyes like the weight of the world rests on his shoulders. “I get your allowance for a month?”

“Yeah. Promise.” Luke holds his pinky out, which Jack ignores.

“Alright, brats, come on,” Jack sighs, herding them downstairs. “Don’t expect me to help you mix it or whatever.”

Luke and Ashton set about making the cupcakes with the mix in the cupboard. It’s vanilla, and Luke insists on using food coloring to make it pink. “Like strawberry,” he says, sure of himself.

They make frosting, and that’s not hard. Luke makes that pink too. The most pressing issue is that the frosting is runny and they doubt it will stay on the cupcakes.

“Hmm,” Ashton says with a frown. “Maybe we should add more powdered sugar.” Luke, who thinks Ashton knows what he’s doing, nods firmly. Ashton keeps adding sugar until it’s thick and how they envisioned frosting to be. They stick it in the fridge.

Ashton begins mixing the cupcake batter, since Luke can’t quite reach the counter and he’s not as strong besides. “I think it’s okay,” Ashton says, peering into it. There are a couple of lumps, but maybe that’s how it’s supposed to be. Beats him. Luke trusts him, so he says more certainly, “Let’s pour it into a tray and bake it.”

Ashton boosts Luke up onto the counter to look for a muffin tray. Luke stands on the counter rather precariously, though Ashton is fully prepared to catch him should he fall, at the risk of both of their lives. “See anything?”

“I think this works,” Luke says, pulling out a tray for mini muffins. “Right?”

“Sure.” Ashton is not sure. He and Luke do their best to pour the batter into the pan, spilling quite a bit over the sides, and declare it ready to go.

Jack enters the kitchen. “How high does the box say to set the oven?”

“350°,” Ashton says. “For twenty-five minutes.” Well, it says max twenty five minutes, but five minutes more than the minimum can’t hurt the cupcakes.

Jack cranks up the oven to the right temperature and shoves the cupcakes in before setting the timer for twenty five minutes, then goes back to his room with a hasty warning not to forget to turn the oven off.

The boys drink apple juice while they wait, grumbling about how long twenty five minutes seem. They play with Molly, Luke’s dog, and roll around in the living room. When the timer goes, they scramble to their feet and race to the kitchen.

Ashton grabs oven mitts, eager to impress Luke with the fact that he can get them out of the oven himself. He oh-so carefully opens the oven, and then Luke cries in distress.

“They’re burnt,” he says, and sounds so down fallen Ashton wants to cry. He sets the ruined cupcakes on the stovetop, and they both stand there for a moment, dejected and grieving for the lost confections.

“We tried,” Ashton says pathetically, holding Luke’s hand. “It’s okay. Don’t be sad. We can try making them again sometime.”

Luke nods sadly. Jack hops down the stairs, having heard the timer go. When he sees the burnt cupcakes, he sighs and shakes his head. “Did you guys read the package right?”

“Yeah,” Ashton says earnestly. “It said: set the oven 350°, and for a regular sized muffin pan, bake for 20-25 minutes.”

Jack rolls his eyes and rubs his head. “You guys were making mini sized cupcakes, and you put it in for the max time. No wonder it burnt.”

Luke looks especially put out, and Ashton thinks for a moment that Jack is going to take pity and be nice.

Then, in a rush, Luke’s face lights up. “The frosting! We can eat the frosting.”

Jack watches skeptically as they dig out the pink frosting. Luke dips an eager finger into it and sucks it off. He smiles. “It’s okay.”

Jack manhandles the bowl from him. “Lemme see.” He takes a finger full too, and makes such an awful face that Ashton is concerned. “Jesus, how much sugar did you put in here?”

“It was runny,” Ashton protests. “It was like soup.”

“Well, congrats. You’ve succeeded in ruining the cupcakes and the frosting.”

Luke’s eyebrows knit together and he looks so defeated that Ashton jumps to his defense. “The frosting isn’t bad at all,” he says confidently. “We’ll eat all of it, prove it to you.”

Jack snorts. “You guys are stupid. I’m going back to my room.” He heads back up the stairs to seclude himself again.

Ashton meets Luke’s eyes. “We can show him that we aren’t awful at everything. Right?”

Luke nods determinedly and grabs a large spoon out of the drawer for himself and Ashton, and then they sit down in the middle of the floor and begin to eat the frosting.

Unfortunately for them, it’s horrifyingly sweet; Ashton gets through five minutes and feels dizzy. Luke is equally green in the face, but they’ve made up their minds to finish it and serve Jack right. And so they continue—foolishly, but with conviction.

Ashton stops first, sensing he’ll do serious damage to his intestines should he go on. Luke won’t give in so easily, though. He doesn’t want Jack to get the satisfaction of being right, and mean. Ashton begs him to stop, but Luke bears down and continues.

In about twenty minutes, they go to Jack’s room, suppressing nausea, and show him the empty bowl triumphantly. Jack looks less than impressed, but they know they have won.

They go back to Luke’s room, and immediately collapse on the floor together.

“I feel so sick,” Ashton moans. He grips his stomach, pain shooting through his abdomen. “That frosting was awful.”

Luke doesn’t say anything at all; he’s too busy curling around his stomach with an ill look on his face. He’s much paler than normal. His eyes are scrunched up tight. Ashton would worry for him if he weren’t so concerned about throwing up.

Luckily for Ashton (although not for Luke), Luke is the first to race to the bathroom and consequently begin throwing up the frosting into the toilet. Ashton grimaces and debates what to do. He settles on getting Jack, which is difficult in his pained, nauseated state of mind. Somehow, he manages to get there.

“Luke’s throwing up,” he says helpfully, “and I think I might too.”

Jack doesn’t bother with the melodrama, apparently deciding that this is too important to be cool for. By the time he gets to the bathroom, Luke is already done throwing up. He looks up and smiles weakly at Jack.

“You fricking idiot,” Jack says irritably. “You don’t have to eat a whole bowl of frosting just to get back at me. Are you done throwing up?”

Luke nods. “It’s okay,” he says, as Jack hauls him up. “I feel better now. Promise.”

“Brush your teeth, and go eat a lemon,” Jack says. “Ashton, stay in here, make sure you don’t throw up. If you two get up to any more trouble--just don’t, okay?” He quickly straightens out Luke’s hair, a nervous, habitual gesture. “Really. Don’t ever do something this stupid again.”

Luke manages to smile at Ashton, and Ashton knows he’s won. “Do I still owe you a months’ allowance?”

Jack rolls his eyes. “Forget about it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> new story, i'm still working on inconsolable, but i thought i'd give myself a side project. i'm a sucker for lashton and this story is going to be both hella cute and hella sad if you didn't read the tags.  
> chapter title from kids in love by mayday parade  
> this is basically my new favorite thing let me know how i'm doing ok bye xx


	2. plant your hope with good seeds

_July 2003_

When Luke turns seven, he decides to have a birthday at home. It’s just family—his brothers and parents, and a few grandparents and other relatives, but Ashton feels a burst of pride at the fact that he’s invited too. His mother hires a babysitter for Lauren and takes Ashton’s newborn brother, Harry, over to the Hemmings’ house with Ashton. Harry is strapped to her front, and Ashton runs ahead to get to the door first.

Luke’s mother answers the door.

“Hello, Ash,” she says warmly, inviting him inside. “Luke’s in his room. He’ll be glad to see you.”

Ashton scrambles down the hall, the sound of his mother greeting Luke’s fading behind him. Luke is sitting on his floor in front of the mirror, watching himself.

“Hey,” Ashton says, knocking on the doorframe. “Happy birthday.”

Luke looks up and smiles. Bright, easy. “Ashton.”

“I brought you a present,” Ashton says, offering it to him. Luke takes it in his hands, standing up. Ashton notices that his hair is pinned back on one side with a sparkly hair clip.

_Boys can’t be pretty._

“Thanks.” Luke takes Ashton by the hand and pulls him out down the hallway to where everyone is gathering.

Everyone cheers when Luke comes into view. “Birthday boy,” an uncle calls, reaching out and pulling Luke into his lap. “You’re so big now.”

Luke smiles, wrapping his arms around the man’s neck. “I’m seven.” His front teeth have come in, but there are others missing.

“I know. Look at that pretty hair clip.”

Ashton glances quickly at his mother, but she doesn’t say a thing. She’s busy feeding Harry. Luke is blushing now, a rosy pink that spreads through his face and up to his ears.

“Well, go find something to do,” his mother says. “It’s your birthday, do what you like. We’ll call you for cake.”

“Can I take Ashton to the fields?” Luke says, clasping his hands together hopefully.

His mother hedges. “I don’t know if I want you there unsupervised.”

“It’ll be fine,” Luke insists. “I’m seven now.”

A ripple of light laughter echoes through the adults. His mother chuckles. “Ben, can you go with them? Make sure they don’t go too far.”

Ben groans about it, but he relents and Luke leads Ashton out the back doors and into the backyard. Luke races to the low wooden fence and begins to climb over it. Ashton, bewildered, hangs back. “What are you doing?”

“Come on,” Luke says. “Climb over.”

Ashton looks to Ben for confirmation, and Ben shrugs and gestures for him to continue. Hesitantly, Ashton swings a leg over and begins to follow Luke. Ben is close behind. Luke takes off through the fields. The daisies fill the field, a sea of white petals and yellow centers. Luke’s face is alight, carefree. He dances through the flowers. Ashton hurries to keep up, breaking into a jog to catch up to Luke’s skipping.

Ashton loses track of how far they’ve come when Luke stops and turns, falling backwards among the flowers.  Ashton thinks he must have tripped, even though he fell so gracefully, but when he reaches Luke, he realizes Luke is beaming up at the sun, lying amongst a million paper daisies. Out of breath, he collapses next to Luke, sitting crosslegged. Ben straggles behind somewhere, content to let the two boys do as they please.

“What is this?” Ashton says, unsure of himself.

“Paper daisies,” Luke says, eyes soft and brilliant under the morning light. “Haven’t you ever come back here?”

The fields are behind Ashton’s house too, obviously, except Ashton’s mother doesn’t let him come out, mostly because she’s busy taking care of Lauren and Harry and has no time to keep an eye on Ashton. And Ashton supposes he never thought about it; he does what his mother says, always, and in all fairness, his life is pretty straightforward. What would he do in a daisy field?

“No,” Ashton admits. “Oh! Your hair clip, it’s gone.”

Luke feels the side of his head, and his smile fades. “Oh. It must have fallen out.” Luke’s hair is probably too short to hold it in anyway.

“Why were you wearing it?”

Luke sits up, brow furrowing it. “Didn’t you like it?”

“Yeah,” Ashton says, biting his lip and looking at his hands. “Just—my mum says boys can’t be pretty.”

Luke’s face falls, and Ashton would do anything to take his words back, because Luke doesn’t look nearly as pretty when he’s sad.

“My mum says they can,” Luke says, sticking his lower lip out. He pulls a daisy up, turning it in his hands. “She said I could be whatever I wanted.”

“I guess you can.” Ashton is thoroughly confused. “I think you’re pretty. Don’t be sad.”

Luke looks up at Ashton, hopeful. “Really?”

“Course.” Ashton might be wrong, but getting a smile from Luke is enough to convince him that it’s the right thing to say. “You always look pretty.” Luke pulls another daisy, and links it to the first one. “Why didn’t you invite any of your friends?”

Luke doesn’t look up when he answers, too focused on his daisy chain. “I don’t have any. I had one, but his older brother called me a—a something I’m not supposed to say, and then Ben hit him, and now his mother won’t let him see me anymore.” He says it matter of factly, so much so that Ashton isn’t sure how to answer.

“Oh,” he says stupidly. “I’m your friend, though.”

Luke grins. “Yeah. You’re my friend.”

Ashton feels this incredible warmth spread through him. Luke’s words echo back to him in his head. Unconsciously, the corners of his mouth tug up into a smile. He pulls a few daisies and begins to mirror what Luke’s doing. They work steadily in silence for a few minutes, and then Luke completes his and holds it up triumphantly. He’s linked it into a circle, and leans forward to set it on Ashton’s head. Ashton briefly debates whether it’s a good idea, whether his mum will be unhappy, but he doesn’t want to hurt Luke’s feelings, and frankly he’s not sure what’s so wrong about it, so he doesn’t take it off.

Ashton finishes his own and reciprocates, setting it atop Luke’s fair hair. “Pretty,” he says decisively, and Luke positively glows. Ashton has never said it out loud until today, and he’s feeling a thrill at the vulnerability of the words. And if it makes Luke this happy, he can’t be worried about his mother.

“You too.” Luke looks like a prince in his flower crown, the sunlight making his straw blond hair shine like gold. “I like being your friend.

Before anything more can be said, Ben is calling them to go back for cake. Luke hops up, dusting his hands off. Ashton follows suit.

“You look pretty too,” Luke tells Ashton. “Your mum will understand once she sees you.”

Ashton is heartened by Luke’s surety. Luke must be right. His mother must not have understood that boys could be pretty, because she had never seen it with her own eyes. When you saw Luke with paper daisies laced in his hair, how could you possibly say that he wasn’t pretty? She would understand. She had to.

Luke slips his hand into Ashton’s, so certain of himself, and they begin their walk back to the house. Ashton thinks that Luke has changed somewhat from their first meeting. He’s a bit more confident, even if it’s a result of being around his family.

Luke skips on the way back, yanking Ashton forward. Luke is so soft, feminine, Ashton thinks; he likes skipping and flowers and hair clips, and he has no qualms about holding hands, a far cry from most seven year old boys. But Ashton likes that he’s effeminate, that he isn’t into video games and trucks and wrestling. He just doesn’t know why.

The house comes into view, and then they’re climbing back over the fence. Ben hasn’t commented on the flowers in their hair or them holding hands; Ashton wonders if the Hemmings are a different breed entirely. His mother wouldn’t look so kindly.

Remembering that, he pulls his hand out of Luke’s. To his relief, Luke doesn’t protest or look disappointed. He skips ahead, and Ashton walks with Ben into the house.

His mother sees the flowers and her mouth draws up tight tight tight as she says, “Ashton, take that off your head.”

Ashton had trusted Luke when he said that she would understand when she saw him, had really believed it, but this feels like a blow. His mouth parts in surprise and he hesitates.

“Anne, it’s fine,” Liz says, relaxed. “Let him keep it on.”

His mother pauses for a second before tensely nodding. Luke goes and sits down at the table, while his father starts putting in the candles and gets a lighter.

They all sing “Happy Birthday” while the candlelight strikes a radiance in Luke’s features, and then he blows them all out in one go. Jack gets the privilege of cutting the cake, and they all munch on it for a while. The adults pick up conversation again.

After about half an hour, Ashton’s mum says it’s about time they get back home. Ashton hugs Luke goodbye, and earns himself a winning smile and a kiss on the cheek.

On the short walk back home, Ashton almost skips. Luke kissed his cheek. Luke kissed him. But beside him, his mother is silent and almost rigid. Ashton quickly sobers up.

When as they get inside the house, his mother goes to put Harry down in his crib. He fell asleep sometime while Ashton was in the field. Ashton sits down with Lauren, who is playing with her dolls in the living room. The babysitter watches from the couch, and then his mum comes back and pays her, and she leaves.

As soon as she’s gone, his mum comes back into the living room. “Ash, take that off now.”

Ashton feels that same stunned feeling in his gut. _Boys can’t be pretty._

“Luke made it for me,” he says, upset. “I want to wear it.”

“This is not negotiable.”

“But Luke’s mum said—”

“I thought I made myself clear.” Her voice is sharp, and Ashton is taken aback.

“But I don’t want to ta—”

Her hand darts out and snatches the flower circlet from his head, and she marches to the kitchen, pulling out the trash can under the sink and shoving it in. Ashton is winded, angry and hurt. “That’s not fair!”

“I will have no son of mine wearing flowers,” she says harshly. “Flowers are for girls, do you hear me? I don’t want to see you wearing flowers again. What Luke is allowed to do is none of our business. This is my family, and you follow my rules.”

Ashton simmers, but seeing the pretty paper daisy chain in the trash, ruined and degraded, brings on a more profound devastation. He can hardly believe that his mother would do something so—mean. His mother is always right, but this time, Ashton doesn’t think she is. Does that make him a bad kid?

He shuts himself in his room, wanting to cry. It’s not the loss of the crown, though it stings. It’s the feeling that he did something wrong, that his mother is disappointed and angry at him and that something he really liked—some _one_ he really liked—is wrong.

It’s a new feeling.

Ashton knows his mother must be right. Mothers are always right. Why did he like wearing flowers, if he wasn’t supposed to? He’s always been a good kid. Always behaved, almost never needed time outs.

He feels ashamed. Of course flowers are for girls. He should never have let Luke put them on him.  

Boys can’t be pretty.

He’s still thinking about this and wallowing in his thoughts when Warwick gets home from wherever he’s been. Ashton likes Warwick; Warwick has just started teaching him the drums, and he’s not Ashton’s real father, but he might as well be. He’s nice to Ashton, and treats him like an adult, like what Ashton has to say is important. Ashton wonders if his mother already told him about the flowers.

Ashton can hear him talking to his mum.

_He’s just a kid, Anne. Don’t be so hard on him._

_Flowers. I don’t want him to be gay._

_It’s not the end of the world. Don’t mean he’s gay, either._

_That kid next door is a bad influence._

_The kid next door is seven. They don’t know any better. Kids will experiment. They’re just flowers, Anne-Ma._

Warwick only ever calls her Anne-Ma when he wants her to soften up, Ashton knows.

Warwick stops into his room after a while, knocking on the doorframe. “Can I come in?”

Ashton nods glumly, sitting up from where he’s been lying on his bed. “Yeah.”

Warwick sits next to Ashton on the bed with a sigh. “Your mother told me what happened.”

 _No, please._ “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done it. Mum is right.”

Warwick shakes his head. “I know your mother has very strong views about what is right to her, but I don’t always agree. Ashton, you’re a great kid. If you want to wear flowers around, do it. Nobody can tell you who to be. Just don’t do it around your mother.”

Ashton stares at him, bewildered. “It’s okay?”

“Don’t let anybody try to make you someone you’re not. You do what makes you happy. Ain’t no harm in wearing flowers. ‘S long as your mum don’t know. Promise me here, promise me you’ll never compromise yourself for what society wants you to be. Being you is fucking cool.”

If his mum could hear, she would probably break up with Warwick or at least slap him for bad language. Ashton always appreciated Warwick’s outlook on life, his unfiltered advice.

“I promise,” Ashton says, though he’s not sure he can keep it. One thing he’s learning fast is that it’s easier said than done.

“Good. There’s only one of you. You’re gonna go far, kid.”

Ashton hopes Warwick will stick around, if not for him, then for Harry and Lauren. Very soon, he’s going to come to the realization that Warwick, despite his mother’s best intentions, is a better parent than anyone Ashton is related to.

 

* * *

 

_September 2003_

Ashton should know by now that Luke’s ideas hardly ever work out (boy, should he know), but when Luke asks him if they can paint their nails, he senses this is a different request. Luke is shyer about asking, hesitant, as if he expects Ashton to laugh. And, well, he’s asking, rather than simply declaring it so as he has been more commonly known to do.

Ashton thinks about it hard and long. The consequences of going home with nail polish are potentially catastrophic, even though he could take it off; but what if he ends up liking it? His mother would have an aneurysm.

But Luke is biting his lip in that way he does, twisting his hands, and Ashton realizes with an unpleasant shock that he’s nervous. Luke is shy when meeting people, shy when getting compliments, shy when he’s wearing pretty things, yes—but a year with Ashton, and he’s hardly ever shy in his presence. Ashton likes how different he is when they’re with each other.

But Ashton hates to see him nervous like this, so as always, he relents.

“Okay,” Ashton finally agrees. “But where will we get nail polish?”

“My mum has lots,” Luke says, eyes glinting. “She lets me watch sometimes. I know how to do it. And if you go wrong you can use the nail polish remover. It’s easy.”

“Won’t we get in trouble?” Ashton frets.

“Course not. Mum gets me girls’ clips, right? Should be fine. Please, Ash?”

“Okay, okay,” Ashton says. “Come on. Let’s do it in the bathroom so we don’t make a mess.”

Luke nods eagerly and they go to his parents’ master bathroom. Luke crawls up on the sink counter and digs through the cabinets before he pulls out a small box filled with various colors of nail polish. Ashton knows his mum has some too, although she works so much she hardly cares to use it.

Luke climbs down and pulls out a lilac one. “I wanna use this one.”

Ashton picks a pale pink. Maybe his mother won’t notice if it’s close to his natural nail color. It’s got a bit of sparkle in it, but he kind of likes that.

They sit on the bathroom floor and open the bottles. The smell is strong; they both make faces. “Yuck,” Ashton says. “Do they usually smell like this?”

“I guess.” Experimentally, Luke drags the brush across his nail and gives a little cry of delight. His nail is coated with a soft purple, translucent and shining. It looks like a piece of gossamer silk, Ashton thinks. “Oh! You try, too.”

Ashton tries his bottle; it comes out evenly on his nail with a few strokes, easy. It shouldn’t come so naturally.

“Oh,” Luke breathes, in awe. “You’re so good. Do mine.”

Ashton giggles unexpectedly, taken away by the adventure of doing something forbidden, wrong. “Okay. Give me your hand.”

Luke holds his hand out; as Ashton takes it in his own, he revels in the baby-smooth skin, the delicate bones. _Lovely._ He begins to paint Luke’s nails, gently and with careful strokes. It’s pretty on Luke, with those feminine features. Ashton is perpetually in awe of Luke.  

“There,” he says, “done.”

He does his own nails after, and then they sit on the bathroom floor, doing their best not to smear their nails. “Ashton,” Luke says, “do you think I’m weird?”

Like everything important, Luke says it matter of factly. As if it means nothing to him. Ashton thinks he’s mastered it.

“Yeah,” Ashton says slowly, “but isn’t everyone? I like how you are.”

Luke smiles. “I thought you would say that.”

“Well, you wear nail polish and hair clips and flowers and your room is full of butterflies, and most boys aren’t like that,” Ashton reasoned. “But I like it. You’re—like nobody I’ve ever known.”

Ashton hopes Luke never changes.

When the nail polish dries, they scratch off the excess with the nail file (“My mom does that sometimes,” Luke assures him when he winces at the abrasion). Then they sit back and admire their nails.

“Pretty,” Luke says happily. “I think I like painting my nails.”

“Me too,” Ashton says with a sigh. “Why d’you think other boys don’t paint their nails?”

Luke pauses, thinking. “I don’t know. It feels good to feel pretty. Don’t you think?”

“Yeah,” Ashton agrees. Suddenly, the sound of the front door opening downstairs startles them out of their thoughts. Luke startles, scrambling to his feet to put away the nail polish. Ashton winces as the bottles all clack together, nervous that in his rush, he’ll break the glass. Luke shoves the cupboard shut, and they both stare helplessly at their nails. There’s no time to take it off. Luke’s earlier certainty that they won’t get in trouble is clearly fading.

“Boys! Where are you?”

“U-uh, upstairs,” Luke calls, folding his hands. “Mum?”

Liz comes up the stairs with her bag still in hand, setting it down on the bed. “What are you boys up to in my bathroom, hmm?”

“Nothing,” Ashton says quickly. “Just—washing our—hands.”

“Well, if you’re done, run along,” she says, and Luke takes the opportunity to start sneaking out of the bedroom, his hands behind his back. Liz takes a second look and raises her eyebrows.

“Luke? Wanna show me something?”

Luke stops guiltily, holding out his hands. “WepaintedournailsandIdon’twanttotakeitoff,” he spits out, ducking his head. Luke can be mischievous, as much as his brothers, but when his mother gives him the look, they all crack the same. Luke just a little faster, maybe.

Liz holds up a hand and sighs. “Okay. Come here, boys. Let me see.”

They shuffle shamefaced over to her, and she sits on the bed. They hold out their hands, the pastels catching the light shining through the bedroom window. Liz takes a hand from each in her own and looks it over, clucking her tongue. “Pretty neat for a first time.”

“Ashton did both of us.”

Ashton is surprised that she hasn’t unleashed her wrath on them yet. “Are you mad?” he says nervously. “I’m sorry. I wouldn’t have, I shouldn’t have, don’t call my mum please—”

Liz shakes her head, smiling slightly. “Relax, Ash. I’m not mad. I’m not all that surprised, either. Next time, don’t scratch off the excess, and let me help you. Ashton did a good job, but it’s a hard thing. And please just ask me.”

“So you’re not mad?” Ashton says, relieved. “You won’t call my mum?”

“It’s just nail polish.” She stands up from the bed with a sigh. “Ashton, are you staying for dinner?”

Ashton shakes his head sheepishly. “My mum wants me home. I should get back soon.”

“Want me to walk you?”

“That’s okay.”

“I’m going to go start dinner, then. Have fun, and don’t get up to any more trouble, or my hair will turn grey.” She winks and heads out of the room.

Luke lets out a huge sigh of relief. “Oh my god. I thought she would kill me.”

“You? I thought she’d kill me,” Ashton says with a snort. “I should really go home, though.”

“Will you come back tomorrow?” Luke says, hopeful and bright.

“Yeah. We can try different colors.” Luke beams.

Ashton heads home on his own, veiling his hands in his pockets. The color of his nails doesn’t seem so much like an adventure as a bad idea. He hasn’t asked, but he’s almost certain his mother won’t approve. Maybe he can wait, and show it to Warwick. Warwick told him he should be himself.

Ashton doesn’t understand why his mother doesn’t want him wearing girly things like Luke. Why couldn’t he be born a Hemmings? Luke has it lucky, the baby of the family; everyone loves each other in his family, and they all love him with pink hair clips and butterfly walls. Hell, they don’t just support it, they provide it. Why can’t his mother be the same?

He walks up the front steps, rings the doorbell, waits; his heart races. Surely his mother won’t notice. _It’s no big deal, Ashton. Man up._

Easier said than done.

His mother opens the door, balancing Harry on her hip. “Hey. How was your play date?”

“Good,” Ashton says casually.

“What did you do?”

 _Crap_. “Uh, just played some games. I’m gonna go to my room.”

His mother doesn’t notice the nail polish until dinner, when Ashton is forced to use his hands to eat, of course. He had hoped the pink was subtle enough to be ignored, but the shimmer of sparkle catches the light, and his mother’s eye.

She tosses down her fork and seizes his wrist, fingers tight as she inspects his nails. Ashton muffles a cry of pain and drops his own fork. “What’s this?” she demands, and Ashton’s breath catches in his throat. Lauren’s watching, Harry’s still minding his own business in his high chair, and Warwick has paused. “Did you paint your nails?”

Ashton feels like he’s choking on air. His heart thuds in his chest. He doesn’t know how to answer the question in a way that won’t make things worse.

She drops his hand. “Was Luke involved?”

“No, I—”

“We’re going over there, right now,” she says, pushing her chair back abruptly. Her eyes blaze, and Ashton knows better than to argue. He stares down at his abandoned food, swallowing hard.

“Anne,” Warwick starts, trying to intervene. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Ashton, I said, _now!_ Get your shoes on. Warwick, make sure the kids finish their dinner.”

“Anne, stop. You’re being unfair.”

“Don’t you dare tell me how to run my family. He is my kid, not yours.”

Ashton shakes his head at Warwick, trying to dissuade him from starting an argument. He shakily gets to his feet and grabs his shoes, slipping them on and keeping his head down.

His mother grabs him by the arm, her grip so right he’s sure it’ll bruise, and marches him right out the door and to the Hemmings’ house. She knocks on the door, _thud thud thud,_ echoing through Ashton’s tight chest. His face is burning in anticipation of being humiliated in front of one of the women he looks up to most, and the boy he was painting nails with just hours earlier.

“Hello, Anne, Ashton,” Liz greets them, taking in the sight of Ashton’s mother holding him by the arm and the clear distress on Ashton’s face. “Is something wrong?” Behind her, Luke comes into sight. Ashton feels even more trapped, embarrassed. Scared.

“Why are Ashton’s nails pink?” she demands. “Why did you allow this?”

Liz is surprised. “I didn’t know you weren’t okay with it. The boys did it while I wasn’t home. If I had known, I would not have allowed it.”

“So your son had something to do with it?”

“No,” Ashton whispers, tugging on her sleeve desperately. “It was my idea, all me.”

“He meant no harm,” Liz says, drawing Luke close to each other.

“It was me,” Ashton says again, louder and more insistent. The bewildered, frightened look on Luke’s face is enough to make him want to defend him, like he always does. Except this time it’s not against mean kids at school, it’s from his own mother’s anger that he’s trying to shield Luke. “It was my idea, I promise!”

“Anne, please, he’s just a child,” Liz said gently. “They were just playing.”

“He’s nine years old,” she says sharply. “He knows what he’s doing. I don’t meddle in other folks’ business, but your son is turning mine gay. And if I ever find out your son has started something like this again, that is the end of their friendship. Do you hear me?”

_Your son is turning mine gay._

Ashton mulls the words over in his head, pondering their meaning. His mother tightens her hold on him, and he winces.

“With all due respect,” Liz says calmly, “I think you’re hurting Ash. And I would rather you didn’t talk about my son like this. Especially not when he can hear.”

“I don’t ever want to see him come home wearing something like this again.”

“Understood. I promise I’ll keep a better eye on them. Is that all?”

Ashton’s mother yanks him off the step and takes him home.

“Don’t you ever let me see you wearing nail polish again,” she says, grabbing the nail polish remover and cotton pads from the cupboard. Ashton wants to scream in protest; he doesn’t want to take it off. He likes it.

“No, Mum,” he argues, digging his heels in and tugging his arm in a lame attempt to free himself. “Stop it, I want to keep it on.”

“We’re taking it off. Don’t talk back.”

“Stop, I don’t want to.” His voice rises. “Stop!” He yanks his arm away just as they reach the sink. “It’s just nail polish.”

“Stick out your hand, Ashton,” she says, glaring as she wets a cotton pad in isopropyl alcohol. “Stick it out!” She seizes his arm.

“No! I won’t.” Ashton tries desperately to get his arm away. “You can’t make me. It’s not fair, I won’t take it off—I _like_ it.” For a split second Ashton thinks he will revel in the horror that her son liked it, that it wasn’t really Luke’s fault at all, but then her hand is slapping across his face with a gut-wrenching crack. Ashton feels his face turned from the sheer force behind the blow, the spreading warmth and sting where her open hand made contact. Shocked, he goes slack, ceasing his movements immediately as she begins to work over his nails.

The pink comes away on the cotton, pale and diluted. The smell of alcohol hits his nose in a flash, but he’s still reeling from the slap.

His mother has never slapped him before.

He stands limply as she takes off the paint. He has been a bad child. He is a failure. He is not worthy of her love.

He does not move at all.

When she finishes and drops his hand, it hits the edge of the sink and he withdraws it, head ducked in shame.

“Never come home like that again,” she says in a low voice, and walks out of the bathroom.

Ashton stands at the sink for the first time, looking into the mirror, analyzing who he sees.

His face is young, maybe even pretty, but not in the way Luke’s is. His skin is light, unblemished. His eyes are dull and sad, misted over, his eyebrows are pulling together. His shoulders slump in defeat.

He touches his face, gentle as a butterfly’s kiss, where his mother slapped him; the spot is red, ugly. _He_ feels ugly. How could anyone feel beautiful if they’ve seen Luke?

He goes back to his room, the evening replaying in his head unwittingly. A wave of hot shame floods through him, forcing him to curl up on his bed to will away the stomach-ache it brings. He was stupid to think his mother wouldn’t notice, stupider still to believe that the consequences would be negligible. He knew, in his heart, that she would never stand for it, and he still couldn’t bear to take it off or say no to Luke.

Perhaps his mother is right; perhaps Luke is toxic, invading Ashton’s lungs and heart and head. But Ashton knows he can never let go of Luke; if it comes down to Luke and his mother, he knows where his loyalty will lie.

He doesn’t want to go back to Luke’s house after the evening’s events, but he promised, and it’ll be worse the longer he has to put it off. After all, eventually he’ll be drawn back; he’ll never be able to leave Luke.

The next day he shows up at Luke’s house. Luke pulls him to the nail polish again immediately.

“I want to try blue this time,” Luke says, moving past any awkwardness and easily filling the silence. Ashton is thankful.

Ashton paints Luke’s nails, and then his own in the same color. They match, and Ashton understands why Luke likes wearing girls’ things sometimes, why he loves feeling pretty. But this time, he can’t leave the paint on when he goes home.

When Luke goes downstairs to grab a snack, Ashton ducks back into the bathroom and begins scratching the nail polish off, determined not to disappoint his mother again. Luke comes back upstairs before long and sees it, sees Ashton’s sober face when he looks up. He sees the circle of bruises around Ashton’s wrist and upper arm, the way his shoulders hunch.

For a second, Ashton thinks Luke’s going to say something; his mouth opens, his eyes are troubled. But then, he closes his mouth, and doesn’t say anything at all.

 

* * *

 

_December 2004_

It’s the height of summer, and the sun is nearly unbearable as Ashton and Luke sit in his room in front of the fan. “I’m going to die of heatstroke,” Ashton says with a groan.

“Don’t be dramatic,” Luke says, voice muffled by his arms. “Ugh.”

“Your fan is not trying hard enough.”

“It’s on high.”

“Doesn’t feel like it.”

“Well, ya know, take it up with the fan.”

There’s no real bite behind their words, probably because it would take energy they don’t have to muster up irritation. The heat inspires lethargy, turning them into piles of mush.

“Luke, how will I walk home? I’ll melt.”

“Just shut up, your breath is making the room warmer.”

Ashton groans loudly, and Luke ignores him. On days like this, there’s nothing to do. They really shouldn’t bother hanging out when all they do is lie on the floor and complain, but Ashton is content to just be in the same room.

Liz stops in, knocking on the doorframe. “Look alive. I’m going to go pick up the dry cleaning, and if you want ice cream, you have to come.”

“Ice cream?” Luke says, perking up immediately and sitting up. “Really?”

“But you have to come with me.”

“Just leave me here to die,” Ashton grumbles.

“Don’t be melodramatic. Come on, get in the car, and we’ll go.”

They drag their feet as they get into the sweltering car, sliding next to Jack. Ben sits in the passenger seat, smug.

It’s stuffy in the car, and a huge relief settles over all the boys when Liz turns on the AC. It’s a godsend; within a few minutes, they’ve stopped sweating through their t-shirts.

“Ice cream, please,” Luke begs, banging on the back of the drivers’ seat.

“Luke, don’t do that,” she says sharply. “I’ll take you after I get the dry-cleaning. Patience is a virtue.”

All four boys grumble. “Ben’s getting all the AC,” Jack complains. “I’m burning.”

“Suck a dick,” Ben hisses back.

“Ben!” Liz scolds. “If you four don’t behave yourself, we’ll go straight home. No ice cream.”

They all settle back with mumbled protests, but everyone knows not to argue with Liz.

They wait in the car while Liz goes in to get the dry cleaning. Luke slides sideways onto Ashton, sulking. “I want ice cream.”

“It’s hot, get off,” Ashton says irritably, but makes no move to shove him off.

“Watching you two makes me sick,” Jack jabs.

“You’re jealous,” Luke fires back. “Get a girlfriend.”

“We’re not dating,” Ashton interjects, elbowing Luke in the side. “Jeez.”

“Might as well be, with the way you carry on,” Ben says from the front seat.

“Oh, shove it up your—” Ashton starts to say, but Liz reappears and he shuts his mouth.

“I hope you all behaved yourselves,” she says knowingly, looking around. “Thank you for waiting. Are you ready to get ice cream now?”

“Yes, _please_ ,” they all practically yell. The wave of heat from her opening the door has gotten them desperate again. She smiles.

“Calm down, we’ll go now.”

When they get to the ice cream place, Luke unbuckles his seatbelt and throws open the door, dragging a barely unbuckled Ashton with him. Ashton hardly even cares that it’s hot as hell and contact of skin makes things hotter.

“Let’s go, let’s go,” Luke chants, pulling Ashton through the doors and triggering the jingle of the bells hanging from the top of the door. “I wanna get strawberry, come on.”

As Luke plasters his face to the glass, Ashton wanders up and down, trying to settle on a flavor he likes. He usually tries new things; after all, he could find something spectacular someday, and doesn’t want to rule out his options. He lingers on the rainbow sherbet today, though.

“I want the strawberry ice cream with the pink sprinkles,” Luke says brightly, hopping up and down in front of the counter. The cashier takes a good look at the tiny pink bow in his hair before starting to get his ice cream.

When Ashton gets his, they scramble back to the car, trying desperately not to let their ice cream topple in their rush. Luke giggles and sinks his teeth into his ice cream, eyes scrunching shut as he takes his first bite. He throws his head back and sighs. Ice cream has never felt so refreshing. Ashton takes a nibble of his own.

“I love ice cream,” Luke says with a blissful smile. Ashton can’t help thinking that he’s so _cute_ when he’s excited about something little like ice cream, but he shoves that thought away, because it’s _wrong_ and _bad_ and he won’t think about it. “I wanna bite of yours.”

“Why didn’t you just get rainbow sherbet?” Ashton says, knowing in a few seconds he’ll cave anyway.

“Because it’s not pink and I always get strawberry,” Luke says stubbornly. “Please?” He widens his eyes and pouts a little. “I promise I’ll give you some of mine.”

Ashton has no strong feelings about strawberry ice cream, and it’s not Luke’s plea bargain that moves him to tilt his ice cream towards Luke to let him lick it. Luke does the same, and to humor him, he takes a small bite.

Luke’s eyes get wide and almost begging. “That’s really good.”

“Well, deal with it, blondie, ’cause you’re not getting it,” Ashton states matter-of-factly.

Luke gives him the eyes.

That’s how Ashton ends up halfheartedly eating a strawberry ice cream cone on the way home with sticky fingers and a fast friend.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is for mariah bc she was mad at me xx  
> title from thistle and weeds by mumford and sons  
> please let me know how you liked it, this is my favorite story to write right now and i'm having load of fun xxxx


	3. you poor unfortunate soul

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _you put on a faith facade,_   
>  _think you're holy when you're not._   
>  _I hate to break it to you baby,_   
>  _but you're simply lost._

_January 2005_

“I want to play on the swings,” Luke says, tugging on Ashton’s hand to get his attention. Ashton notices he does this quite often. “Please?”

Ashton agrees, and they walk through the tanbark together, feet kicking up tanbark. He’s nervous to be holding Luke’s hand in the playground, where there are so many other kids. They don’t ever at school, an unspoken agreement; neither of them have worked it out, but they both have a strong feeling that most other boys don’t hold hands.

“Look, there’s two open, come on,” Ashton says, pointing with his free hand. “Quickly, or someone will take them.”

They hurry to the swings and each sit in one, pushing off quickly with their feet. Luke is so small that his feet hardly reach the ground, just the tips of his sneakers digging into the tanbark and rocking his swing. He doesn’t get as high as Ashton, or as fast, although he doesn’t seem to be bothered. Ashton, who’s already picked up momentum, plants his feet and does his best to slow down.

“Here, try this,” he says. “When you’re going forward, tuck your legs in, and when you’re going backwards, make your legs straight.”

Ashton shows him, gradually picking up speed. After a few bewildered moments, Luke follows his lead.

Luke’s face scrunches up in concentration as he focuses all his energy on trying Ashton’s method. He gathers a little more motion than before, but he can’t get the hang of the rhythm, so Ashton decides to get off his own swing and push him.

“What are you doing?” Luke says, confused. “You want to stop?”

“I’m helping you, stupid,” Ashton says lightly. He puts his hands on Luke’s lower back and shoves him forward, stepping back to avoid his backswing. Luke grips onto the chains holding the swing up to avoid getting pushed off, while he slowly gains altitude. His face turns up to the sky, a big smile spreading over it.

“Higher,” Luke says with a hint of a giggle in his voice. “Higher, Ash.”

“You’ll go flying off,” Ashton protests. Luke is light and small, and he doesn’t want to have to explain to their mothers why Luke died on the playground. Nevertheless, he puts a little extra effort into his pushes, and Luke shrieks as he soars higher. Ashton smiles despite himself. Luke’s joy is childish, bright—innocent. Luke doesn’t worry, not in the way Ashton does, and perhaps it comes with age; Luke has never been touched by anything ugly, hatred or envy, and maybe that’s why his eyes shine like they’ve been kissed by angels.

Ashton hopes he stays young and happy forever.

 

* * *

 

_March 2005_

For Ben’s birthday, Luke’s family plans to visit Taronga Zoo for a day, and what a blessing, they say Ashton can come, too. He suspects Luke may have had to do a bit of arm twisting to get him invited, but in all honesty nobody expected anything less. Since Luke moved in next door three years ago or so, he and Ashton have been attached at the hip (or so to speak, since it’s a physical impossibility due to their height difference).

Ashton was hard-pressed to persuade his mother to let him go for a whole Saturday, but the nail polish incident has mostly been forgotten, and Liz can be very persuasive. Even his mother can’t find anything wrong with the idea of a day at the zoo. After all, Ashton’s been begging to go forever, and Harry’s still too young to sit through a whole day in a stroller.

They pick him up early in the morning, when the air is still sharp and cool. The neighborhood is quiet as it always is in the morning, and the only car passing through the street is Luke’s. Ashton hops out the front door, kissing his mother goodbye on the cheek and adjusting his backpack over his shoulders. He runs down the driveway to where the van is waiting for him.

He slips into the middle row, right across from Luke. Ben leans his head on the armrest of his chair. “Hey, Ashton. Just a question. Would you rather see the flamingos or the lions?”

“Uh,” Ashton says stupidly. “Uh, flamingos?” He looks across at Luke, trying to ask if it’s the right answer. Luke crosses his arms, smiles smugly, and leans back as Jack and Ben both groan out loud.

“Ash! We were counting on you,” Jack grumbles. “Now we’re gonna have to go to the flamingos first.”

“Hey, calm down,” Luke’s dad says from the front seat. “We can split up. I’ll take you boys to the lions, and your mum can take Luke and Ashton around. We’ll meet up for lunch. Can you live with that?”

“But I like Ashton,” Jack protests.

“Hey,” Luke says, pouting. “I’m your brother.”

“And you’re super annoying.”

“Settle down, now,” Liz admonishes. “Your father said we’ll meet up for lunch.”

“I wanted to show Luke the lions,” Jack adds, mostly to pacify Luke. Then he grins wickedly. “Maybe push him in.”

 _“No!”_ Luke screeches. “I’m gonna see the flamingos.”

Nobody can argue with Luke’s furious face after that.

When they get to the zoo, it’s just about to open. They get in line behind the ticket stiles and wait. Luke is buzzing beside Ashton, holding onto his arm eagerly. “I’m so excited. I’ve never seen flamingos before. Can you believe there are pink birds? They’re so _pretty_ ,” he says, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

“Have you ever been to the zoo?” Andy asks Ashton.

“Oh,” he says, and looks at his hands shyly. “No. I was too little, and then my sister was too little, and now my brother’s too little.”

“Then it’s your lucky day.” Andy pats him on the back, a fatherly gesture. Ashton smiles; he loves feeling like he’s a part of this family, likes pretending he is. It’s not right, because he has his mum, and Warwick, and Harry and Lauren, but surely it’s _normal_ to want what you don’t have, isn't it?

The gates open, and everyone floods inside. Luke surges forward with Ashton in tow, glancing back periodically to make sure his mother is following. She weaves through the crowds behind them. Ben, Jack and Andy have already taken off for the lions. Liz finally catches up to them with an exasperated reprimand of “Slow down!”

Luke laughs out loud and they fall in line with her, slowing to a walking pace. “Mum, can we see the flamingos first?”

“Why don’t we just start walking and see what we find on the way?” she suggests, and Luke acquiesces.

The first exhibit is the koalas, and Luke gasps and presses his face to the glass. “Oh my god. They’re so cute.”

Ashton comes up next to him, and a rush shoots through him. The koalas are cute, all fluffy and small and big-eyed. “I want to take one home.”

“Why are they sleeping? It’s the middle of the day,” Luke wonders.

“Koalas sleep quite a bit,” Liz says, indicating the sign by the exhibit. “Up to 18 hours a day. A lot more than you guys, huh?”

“I wish I could sleep 18 hours a day,” Ashton mumbles, and Liz chuckles and moves them along.

The corroboree frogs are next, but not only are they tiny and hard to see, they’re also not very interesting, and so they move on very quickly. Luke thinks the chimpanzees are simply adorable, and shoves Ashton when he suggests that Luke is like a chimpanzee (small, energetic, and high-pitched).

Ashton is particularly excited about the giraffes; there are a few baby giraffes mixed in with the taller ones, and the unrivaled height is baffling to him. He practically glues himself to the fence, looking up in awe at the creatures. Luke hangs back a few steps away from the fence, a little nervous, no matter how many times Liz assures him giraffes are harmless, if incredibly large. Luke is, needless to say, relieved when they move on.

Luke falls in love with the baby gorilla. Ashton thinks there’s almost no animal that can’t warm Luke’s heart. Save for giraffes and lions, Luke’s been pretty gung ho about everything. He even likes the elephants, which Ashton doesn’t understand, because they’re about as big as the giraffes, just in a different direction. Ashton personally thinks the otters and the red pandas are adorable, and there Luke agrees.

But nothing compares to the sheer joy on Luke’s face when he sees the flamingos. He rushes right up, thrilled.

“They’re pink,” he breathes. “Mum, look! They’re my favorite color! Look how pretty they are! Look at the way their legs are bent!”

Ashton giggles. “They’re really pink.”

“They’re so _pretty,_ ” Luke says fiercely. “Do you see, Ashton?”

“I see,” Ashton says. “Mrs. Hemmings, when is lunch?”

“Soon, I promise. I’ll text Andy and ask when they’re ready. Why don’t you two look at some of the other birds? I know there’s a wombat nearby, too, if you want to go.”

They finish off their round, and, upon confirmation of lunch plans, converge on the main path and head to the nicest restaurant in the zoo, The View, which overlooks the Sydney Harbor and serves quite the impressive variety of seafood. A wave of gratitude washes over Ashton; his family couldn’t afford to eat somewhere so nice, not unless it was a really special occasion. Being a pseudo-part of Luke’s family allows him to experience so many things he would never be able to in his own family. He’s grateful for both families.

He ends up sharing some shrimp with garlic butter with Luke. It’s some of the best food he’s ever had, and he nearly overstuffs himself. Luke looks equally taken with the food. When they’re done, they both sit back with a contented sigh.

“Alright, well, I don’t know what you guys saw, but we took some of the main path and some of the Australia Walkabout,” Liz updates them. “We covered quite a bit. I’d say we hand the reins over to Ben and let him take us wherever he wants to go. It’s his birthday, after all.”

“You should see the zebras,” Ben says eagerly. “They’re really cool. We can see the lemurs and gorillas on the way.”

Luke wrinkles his nose, looking on the map. “Aren’t the zebras on the same path as the lions?”

“Yeah, but you don’t have to get close,” Ben says.

“I don’t want to see the lions,” Luke says petulantly, looking to his mother for help. Despite his sullen refusal, Ashton can see the nerves that are motivating it.

“Come on, Luke, I’m sure you can hang behind if you want,” she says. “We’re just going to the zebras, after all.”

Luke slumps, glancing quickly across at Ashton. Ashton shrugs helplessly. When the cheque is taken care of and everyone’s ready, they’re on their way again. Ashton keeps Luke close to him now, hoping nothing will go wrong.

Luke is less engaged when looking at the animals than he was before, and he and Jack are jostling each other constantly. Jack needles him about the lions time and time again, teasing him for being scared, and no matter how many times Liz scolds him, the fighting doesn’t let up. Ashton can’t believe Jack and Ben tease Luke so hard, when he knows how hard they defend them at school (not that Luke knows it). He silently promises himself to take care of Harry when he’s older.

“Alright, next stop, zebras,” Ben announces, striding ahead and down the path. Luke pushes to keep up with him, eager to stick close to his oldest brother and escape Jack’s ribbing. “Don’t be scared, Luke. The zebras are really cool. And if we go see the lions again, I’ll make sure they don’t hurt you.”

Ben is more placid than Jack, usually. He can subject Luke to his own brand of teasing, although he has a better sense of when to stop, presumably because he’s older and has less interest in mischief. Generally, Ashton thinks he’s more grounded.

“Promise,” Luke mumbles, reaching up for Ben’s hand. Ben accepts it, pulling him along to the zebras.

The zebras really are lovely. Ashton has always wondered what they would look like in real life, the exotic print of black and white; Ben lifts Luke up the best he can so he can see better in the meantime. With the four year difference, Ben is hitting his growth spurt and is quickly distancing himself from his brothers, which means that with his extra natural size, he can pick Luke up easily.

“Nice, right?” Ben asks. Luke nods, but gestures to be put back down and glues himself to Ashton’s side.

“Let’s go back now,” Luke says hopefully.

“No, we might as well finish the trail,” Jack says. “It makes sense to just keep going.”

“I don’t want to go,” Luke says, glaring at him.

“Your brother’s right,” Andy says. “We won’t spend long there, champ, I promise. Do it for your old man?”

Luke’s lower lip juts out, and he nods.

The walk to the lions exhibit is painful. Luke won’t let go of Ashton, stuck to his side like a leech, and Ashton recognizes how afraid he really is. Jack must have really frightened him off.

By the time they get to the lions, Luke is getting wider and wider eyed. Jack leans forward, watching the lions contentedly. Ben asks Luke if he wants to get closer, but Luke shakes his head vehemently.

“Come on, Luke, don’t be a wimp,” Jack calls.

“Don’t call your brother a wimp,” Andy reprimands. “Leave him alone.”

“I’m just teasing, I don’t mean it,” Jack protests.

Luke bites down hard on his lip, so hard Ashton is worried. He tries to stand close behind Luke, tries to posture himself taller (he’s only a year younger than Jack, after all), but he senses it won’t help much.

“Stop,” Luke says uneasily. “Can we go?”

“I’m sorry, Luke,” Jack says, serious. “Want me to pick you up so you can see better? They’re really cool.”

Luke shakes his head fast. “I wanna go.”

“Come on, Luke. I was just teasing you. The only way the lions could eat you is if you fall in. You’re safe.” After a suspicious glance from Luke, Jack adds, “I promise you’ll like them when you can see them better.”

Reluctantly, Luke steps forward. He allows Jack to pick him up, hands braced by Luke’s underarms, and Luke peers over the protective fencing to where the lions are. A shiver runs through him, and after a few seconds, he turns his face away and leans away. “Okay, I want to come down,” he tells Jack.

Jack begins to lower him, but unexpectedly jerks forward so Luke’s lower body comes right up against the edge of the fence and his upper body tilts over,and Luke screams out loud, clawing at Jack. “No, don’t drop me! Please! Don’t drop me!”

Ashton can see the netting and the extra fencing that would separate Luke and the lions, but Luke is legitimately terrified, and Jack says irritatingly, “It’d be a shame if you fell in.”

Andy rushes forward to break up the situation. Jack sets Luke down before he can touch either of them, and Luke collapses to his knees on the dirt pathway, face crumpling as he bursts into tears. He scrambles backward, hands and feet flying across the dirt until he’s on the other side of the pathway, away from Jack and the lions.

Ashton runs to Luke, kneeling by him and wrapping him in a hug, whispering, “You’re safe, it’s okay. I won’t let anyone hurt you.” Andy and Liz, in the meantime, give Jack a thorough dressing down.

Luke sniffles and scrubs at the tears that fall down his cheeks. “I almost fell in,” he says, gripping at Ashton. “I’m scared.”

“It’s over,” Ashton says soothingly, feeling a burst of protectiveness surge through him. “I’ve got you.” He kisses Luke’s damp, salty cheek hard. “I’ll protect you.”

Luke looks up at him with piteous, watery blue eyes. “Promise?”

“Course.”

“Will you kiss me again?” he whispers hopefully. Ashton is more than happy to oblige, peppering kisses all over his cheek.

In a minute or two, Jack approaches Luke, guilt written all over his face. He had known he had gone too far as soon as Luke hit the ground and started to cry, the knowledge had been written all over his face. Ashton reckons he didn’t need the talking-to to understand what he did wrong, but he deserved it. Ashton tightens his grip around Luke and glares daggers at Jack, willing him to fall into the lion pit instead. Nobody makes Luke cry and gets away with it. Push comes to shove, Ashton will fight Luke’s brothers for him.

“Luke, baby,” Jack says pleadingly. “I’m so sorry. I was just messing around. It was wrong of me to scare you like that. I didn’t think you would be so upset.”

“It was really mean,” Luke says, the hurt evident in his face. “Why did you do it?”

“I thought it would be funny, but it wasn’t and I will never do something like that again. Will you forgive me?”

Luke shakes his head, crossing his arms as his lower lip wobbles dangerously. “You scared me.”

Jack sighs. “I’m really sorry. I’ll make it up to you. I’ll let you hold my hand.”

“And?” Luke presses. He clearly isn’t convinced, although it’s a big offer for Jack.

“There are baby goats,” Jack admits. “They’ll let you hold one if you’re lucky. I’ll take you.”

“Why would you want the lions to eat me?” Luke says plaintively.

“I don’t, I’m sorry. Never again. Come on, dry your eyes. Let’s go see the goats.” Jack extends his hand, and Luke accepts it, allowing himself to be pulled to his feet. True to his word, he doesn’t let go, and they set off for the goats, the whole family.

Luke holds the baby goat with such gentle hands; Ashton thinks Luke is so full of unadulterated joy and adoration, a childish and naive love for everything. It’s so beautiful, like everything else about him. Luke is caring and gentle and sweet, and Ashton smiles just watching him.

 

* * *

 

_July 2005_

Luke and Ashton spend their Term 2 hols that year back and forth between houses, in the daisy fields and the neighborhood playground. Things are nearly the same as they always are; they spend hours in the fields talking on their backs and staring up at the clouds. Luke always sees flowers in the shapeless masses, and Ashton never sees anything at all. They paint their nails and wash them off, stick flowers in each other’s hair and come home with hair full of leaves and petals, they roll around in the snow when it comes and build icy replicas of each other. They celebrate their birthdays together and take big toothy-faced photos. But things are changing, and there’s no way to fight it.

Luke and Jack are particularly at odds those holidays, which means Luke is more often at Ashton’s house than the other way around these days. Ashton’s mother indulges his presence, but Ashton still likes it better when she’s out of the house. He doesn’t have to worry then about wayward touches, brushing hands and giggling while they roll on the floor together.

Luke curls up against Ashton on the couch while they watch TV. Ashton’s heart jerks to life, setting his whole body off. He flashes hot and cold, and his focus switches away from the TV. Luke doesn’t seem to notice, his eyes still fixed on the screen. It’s something that’s been happening more and more lately. Ashton never used to think about it when they held hands, or touched, but now the weight of a single finger is enough to make him into a reeling wreck. It’s not normal, and he doesn’t know how to fix it. It feels wrong, and Ashton’s sure this isn’t how you’re meant to feel around your best friend.

Just when he’s afraid Luke will notice how on-edge he looks, the door leading from the garage to the kitchen opens, and he jumps, nudging Luke away. Luke looks mildly confused, though not upset, until Ashton’s mother walks into the living room. She glances at them on the couch, setting her bag down.

“How was your day?” Ashton asks patiently.

“I’ve had better,” she says tersely. “They’re laying people off, I spilled coffee on my keyboard. Oh, and to top it off, gay marriage was legalized in Canada. What a day.”

“What?” Luke says, wrinkling his nose. “Really?”

Ashton is always surprised at how precocious Luke is. The first time he’d even heard the word was when his mother suggested that Luke might be making _him_ gay. He hadn’t understood at the time, but at eleven years old, he finally understands.

Ashton's mum must take Luke’s apparent confusion as agreement that it was a bad thing. “It’s not a good sign. God knows what it might lead to. The day they legalize it in New South Wales is the day I move to Tasmania.”

“It’s pretty far away,” Ashton says as steadily, indifferently, as he can. “Just Canada.”

“It’s a slippery slope. You give them a hand, they’ll take the whole arm. I don’t want them infecting our society.”

Ashton bites his tongue, and Luke bites his lip beside him. She disappears upstairs, and they keep watching TV, but Luke doesn’t touch Ashton again, perhaps for fear that his fragile facade might crack.

 

* * *

 

They sleep in a tent in the fields a few days later, grabbing onto the remains of their freedom as Term 3 approaches. There’s a divide in the tent, which means Jack and Ben are right on the other side to watch them as instructed, but they drop off quickly after the sun goes down. The horizon sets pretty colors, an ombre effect of reds and purples, reflecting in their eyes as they stare at each other. Ashton can see the whole night in Luke’s, in all the beauty and celestial wonder.

There’s a plastic window along the top of the tent, allowing a handful of stars to light up the tent. Inside, Luke and Ashton lie side by side, hands halfheartedly resting in each other’s. They’re wrapped up in sweaters under sleeping bags, lying a little too close to keep Ashton’s heart steady. Tonight he’s not as nervous, even with Luke’s brothers so close. There’s something sacred and protected about this night, this little world made for them. The sky is dotted with light, and it illuminates a starry background across their bodies.

“Ashton,” Luke whispers just when Ashton thinks he might be asleep. “Are you awake?”

“No,” Ashton whispers back. “What’s wrong?”

Luke shifts slightly, turning on his side to see Ashton’s face. Ashton turns just his face. Luke’s eyes are so wide, incredible. He doesn’t let go of Ashton’s hand. “Why was your mum angry?”

Ashton doesn’t immediately connect the dots; it’s been several days, and his mind is foggy. “What do you mean?”

“About Canada.”

It clicks in place for Ashton, the afternoon of them sitting on the couch together. The odd way Luke had acted afterwards. Hadn’t touched him, hadn’t even tried, which was something Ashton wasn’t used to.

“They made gay marriage legal,” Ashton whispers dumbly.

“But why is that bad?”

Ashton wants to have the answer, but he doesn’t; Luke’s questions strike an old fear in his heart, the fear that he’ll wake up and realize he’s everything his mother hates. His stomach clenches, and he responds, “She doesn’t think boys should be able to marry each other.”

Luke’s grip tightens on his hand. “Isn’t it the same as when a boy and girl love each other?”

 _Yes,_ Ashton dreams of screaming. _Love is love, we’re all the same inside._ But he says, “I guess it’s more complicated.”

“My mum told me I could love whoever I wanted,” Luke whispers. “If I loved a boy, would you still love me?”

“Course,” Ashton says softly, his voice breaking. “We’re best friends. Always.”

“Even if your mum doesn’t like me anymore?”

“Always,” Ashton repeats, and it’s true. “Can you do something for me?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t ever do anything different because of something someone says.” Ashton hurts on the inside, telling Luke to do the exact thing he is afraid of. “God made you the way you are for a reason.”

Luke squeezes his hand. “I won’t.”

Luke smiles, but Ashton turns his head back up to the stars. It’s easier, he decides, to look at the heavens, to remind himself what he’s supposed to do. It’s easier than looking at Luke, because for the first time in his life, Ashton feels a stab of anger that Luke takes his freedom for granted. What was innocent and childish seems foolish, and Ashton wants his own naiveté back.

The stars seem to glare that night, and Luke’s name tastes bitter on his tongue.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i finally got this done.  
> title from holy by pvris, highly recommend it  
> last night i wrote a hella cute oneshot called turning page, you can check that out if you're bored and need something to hold you until the next update  
> i'm going to otra on saturday i'll tell you all about it  
> pls comment guys feed my massive ego it'll be fun i promise <3  
> i love you all pls be safe and do things that make you happy bye xx


	4. my heart's enclosed in crystal homes

_August 2005_

There’s a noticeable shift in Ashton, a troubled tide hidden below layers of smiles and heteronormative behavior. He’s outgrown flower crowns and painting nails, has outgrown his childhood, whether naturally or to shield himself, he’s not sure. All of a sudden, it pulls at him that Luke makes him feel strange inside, a fluttery sensation that screams trouble. From the moment it started, months ago, it came with a sense of dread.

It’s the kind of feeling that he simply shouldn’t have; the boys in his grade have begun to chase around the girls, not in the childish way they had in Year 1, but with intent, wooing them with binder paper love letters and foursquare teams. Ashton briefly considers the girl who sits next to him, the cute little brunette with the round cheeks and bright eyes, but they’re not as bright as Luke’s, and there’s no spark in his veins, nothing like the way Luke makes him feel. There’s no interest whatsoever; whoever he looks at, he finds himself comparing them to Luke. With a sickening feeling, Ashton begins to realize that nobody will ever seem as pretty as Luke.

It’s wrong. Boys can’t be pretty, and Ashton shouldn’t still think of Luke that way. His childhood affection was naïve and was born in a seven-year-old’s mind. After four years, it shouldn’t be getting _worse._

But it is, and Ashton doesn’t know how to deal with it except to ignore it.

As with everything, it’s easier said than done. Luke has a cheek made for kissing, a waist made for hugging, a hand made for holding. If God exists, he must have spent extra time on Luke, because he’s a true masterpiece.

Ashton tries not to make it obvious; he overthinks everything instead. How long is too long for a hug? How much space should he leave between them? If he gets caught staring, will Luke suspect?

There’s nothing to suspect, he tells himself. Whatever he’s feeling will pass.

In theory, anyway.

He struggles with it, in his head; he can’t possibly _tell_ anyone. There’s no other answer; he’s a freak. What if he can never get married because he can only think of Luke? Do other boys get that same fluttery feeling when they look at their best friends? What if he’s reading it all wrong?

In retrospect, he shouldn’t have said anything, not to anyone. He should have known; if he had thought about it a little harder, he might have kept his mouth shut.

He’s in the kitchen with his mother, sitting on a stool while she cooks dinner. “Mum?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I ask you a question?” He wants her to say no, so he won’t have to ask.

“Of course. You can ask me anything.”

Looking back, she probably thought he was asking about sex, or the inconvenient boners he’d been getting intermittently for some time now. It would have been better if he was.

“Is it, like, normal to—I don’t know, have a friend-crush?” he asks, and wishes he could melt.

“Is there some girl at school you have a crush on?”

“No, like—like another boy. Is it normal to maybe like a boy a little more than you should? Like a friend, but it feels different.”

She stops cooking immediately, frowning at him. “No, it’s not normal. And it’s not okay, either. Boys aren’t allowed to have feelings like that for each other.”

“Why not?” Ashton presses.

“God doesn’t make mistakes, Ashton. If he wanted you to like boys, he would have made you a girl. You don’t want to go to hell, do you?”

Ashton doesn’t understand how hell is relevant, but he lets it slide.

“But—”

“No buts about it. I don’t want to hear about this again, you understand me? Boys like girls.”

Ashton doesn’t understand, or at least he doesn’t want to. His mother doesn’t go to church, and she hardly ever brings up God unless she’s talking about “the homosexuals”. She was raised as a Christian, but Ashton thinks it’s stupid if two boys can’t even love each other. Her words sour his stomach and leave him afraid.

He must be confused. God wouldn’t make him wrong. Gods don’t make mistakes—Gods are infallible.

Right?

 

* * *

 

_December 2005_

Christmas Eve is spent with the Hemmings’ over at Ashton’s house. Most family functions usually happen at Luke’s house, because it’s two stories and bigger besides whereas Ashton’s house is smaller and has one level; this year, however, Luke’s family is getting their kitchen renovated, and Ashton’s mum offered. The fireplace makes the living room nice enough; it may be crowded with two families inside, but it means Ashton and Luke get to fall asleep with the Christmas tree feet away, and when they wake up in the morning, they can open presents as soon as Luke’s family comes back over.

Dinner is nice; Ashton and Luke are right next to each other as always. If they brush hands under the table, nobody notices. Luke steals the cranberries off Ashton’s plate and stains his mashed potatoes a rosy pink with them, so Ashton retaliates by taking his bread. They could easily have served themselves more, but it’s more fun this way.

Finally, when Luke’s family heads back home and Ashton’s mum goes to bed, it’s time to set up their sleeping bags. Warwick is going to sleep on the couch to stay with them and help them set up their sleeping bags. He pulls them down from the hall cupboard, handing one to each of them.

“Alright, boys, here you are. Get some sleep.”

“Thanks, Warwick.”

“Get some sleep, kiddo. Santa’s gotta come.” Warwick ruffles Ashton’s hair affectionately. “Go on, now.”

Warwick settles on the couch, and Ashton and Luke slide into their sleeping bags until only their faces are visible. Luke grins at Ashton, uncontainable joy reading in his eyes.

“Tomorrow’s Christmas,” he whispers excitedly. “The best day of the year.”

“I know,” Ashton replies. “Gonna really like what I got you this year.”

“I always like what you get me.” Luke sighs. “I can’t believe we won’t be in the same school next year.”

“It doesn’t mean we won’t be friends,” Ashton says, shifting closer. “I’ll come over every day after school, like always. We’ll see each other plenty.”

“I know, but—” Luke makes an unhappy face. “Forget it. It’s stupid.”

“What is it?”

Luke’s eyes melt into sadness. Ashton isn’t used to the blue of his eyes being the color of icy lakes and darkening evenings; he’s used to clear skies and the lakes they swam in during the summer. “Don’t laugh,” he murmurs. “I’m just afraid, that’s all.”

“Of what?”

Luke shrugs, smiling hollowly. “Of other kids.”

Ashton understands in a flash what he means; the back field fights, the intimidation games. All for Luke’s honor. Luke would be hard pressed to kill a spider, even a small one, but he’s always predestined as the brunt of the other boys’ unkindness. Ben and Jack were already fighting kids tooth and nail for so much as a sorry glance towards him when Ashton joined the party. Ashton couldn’t fight as hard or well, but he dealt out a fair amount of threats, and most primary school kids were inclined to back off. One by one, Luke’s protectors have gone off to secondary. When Ashton leaves, he’s on his own.

“No, no,” Ashton says hurriedly. “It’ll be okay. You’re almost the top of the school. You’re gonna be okay.”

Luke looks smaller in this dim light. “What if they aren’t?”

“I don’t know.” Ashton reaches out to touch his cheek, such an intimate gesture that both their breath seems to freeze in their chests. “It’s going to be alright, Luke.”

He leans forward, touching noses and foreheads with Luke. He’s so close, his hands are shaking. Maybe Luke notices his unsteady hand on his cheek, maybe he’s shaking too and Ashton doesn’t know.

He could kiss him. He _wants_ to kiss him, but it’s not right. Boys don’t kiss boys. Not even if they want to.

Ashton pulls his hand away and rolls onto his back. “Goodnight, Luke,” he breathes, but he doesn’t fall asleep until well after Luke’s breathing settles, feeling Luke’s skin sliding under his hand again and pulling him in.

 

* * *

 

_January 2006_

Ashton starts secondary school at Richmond High, the first time in several years that he and Luke are not in the same building for school. It’s a little weird after all this time to not see Luke around, to not sit together at lunch, but they still see each other at home, because Ashton usually goes over to Luke’s house after school, since his mother and Warwick both work. Harry stays at a daycare, and Lauren has her own friends in the neighborhood to go home with. She has more friends than Ashton at this point, which might have something to do with how he spends so much of his time with Luke. He doesn’t feel lonely, because he has Luke, and having a best friend is one of the most gratifying things to have.

Still, school is a bit tiresome with no friends. He and Luke always got lucky enough to have the same lunch breaks, but now he doesn’t have that. He’s afraid for Luke, too, that without his brothers and Ashton, people will be unkind. Luke still wears hair clips and flowers and “girly” colors, and kids around their age usually don’t take too well to that.

But there’s nothing to be done. Luke can’t skip two grades, and Ashton can’t fall back either. The first day of school is frightening for both of them.

The first day of school is not bad, compared to the worst-case scenarios Ashton dreamed up; Ashton ends up eating lunch with Jack’s friends, for lack of having his own. They’re nice enough, but they’re such typical boys, and after spending so much time with Luke, he misses Luke’s softness.

He makes it to Luke’s house about ten minutes after Luke does. Liz lets him in and he drops his backpack by the door, hurrying down to Luke’s room. Luke waits for him eagerly, wearing a floral pink hair clip today. He doesn’t look upset, and Ashton prays everything was okay.

“How was the first day of secondary?” Luke asks.

“Alright. Sat with your brother at lunch,” Ashton replies.

Luke scrunches up his nose. “Why?”

“Because you’re my only friend, nitwit,” Ashton says, smacking the side of Luke’s head. “Most of my friends went to Norwest and Richard was sick. What about you?”

Luke shrugs a little, looking at his hands bashfully. “Guess it was okay?”

“Just okay?” Ashton clarifies, frowning. “Did something happen? Were people—”

Luke waves him off with an embarrassed shake of his head. “No, no, it was fine. Just—you know. People don’t want to talk to me.”

“What?” Ashton is taken aback. “What makes you say that?”

“I’m too girly.” Luke’s face fills with color. “I wear—girls’ hair things and pink and I don’t like any of the things the boys do. I’m not like you.”

Ashton is really not sure he’s the best example of a stereotypical boy. Stereotypical boys don’t think other boys are pretty. Still, he supposes, at least in Luke’s eyes, he must seem a lot closer. “People are just stupid, then. There’s nothing wrong with you.”

Luke shrugs again. “Maybe someone will want to be my friend tomorrow.”

Ashton feels a bit constricted, like there’s something sitting on his chest. “I’m your friend. Who cares if people at school like you?”

“Yeah,” Luke says, but it seems forced. “Who cares?”

“Right. We have each other. School is only a small part of our life anyway.”

Ashton tries to sound confident, like he believes it. But when he sees the strained disappointment on Luke’s face, it’s hard to keep it up. It would be a lie if he said he didn’t understand what Luke wants. Luke wants to have the same camaraderie that most boys have; he wants to fit in, wants to have someone to talk with and laugh with. Ashton can’t be that person for him at school anymore.

It’s not that bad for Ashton, because he _does_ have other friends, and he can make more if he needs to; he prefers Luke, yes, and it’s easier to be himself around him, but Luke has always had trouble finding friends. Most people aren’t outright mean, most of them are just standoffish, but they can be mean.

The next day, they walk to school together as usual. Luke is shouldering his new flowery backpack and sticking close to Ashton. Ashton is glad that he can walk Luke all the way to school, even if he has to walk alone after to get to Richmond. It makes them both feel safer.

“Just put yourself out there,” Ashton begs Luke. “People will like you when they realize how cute you are.”

“Okay.” Luke glances behind, seeing the few boys who walk the same way to school. They make him nervous, and he glues himself to Ashton’s side. “You’re sure? What if I come across annoying?”

“You won’t—you aren’t. You’re so quiet around new people, I’m sure they just haven’t realized they want to be friends.”

Ashton is certain he sounds like he’s bullshitting—a word Jack’s group graciously taught him yesterday—but Luke doesn’t seem to notice. Luke trusts him too much. “You think?” he says.

“Course.” Ashton pats his back reassuringly as they approach the school. “Go on, now. It’ll be okay.”

Luke nods uneasily. “You’ll come over after school, right?”

“Yeah. I’ll see you then.”

Luke detaches from Ashton’s side, waving a quick goodbye as he walks through the gates. Ashton watches him go, hoping today goes better for him. He’s so distracted that he hardly notices the three boys who have been walking slightly behind talking to themselves, snickering. Ashton has a feeling he knows who they’re talking about. He speeds up and fast-walks the whole way to Richmond.

Ashton quickly finds the remains of his old group at school today, and settles back in with them. There are only a couple of them who came to Richmond, and none of them have classes together, which explains why he couldn’t locate them all day. Secondary school is so much bigger than primary, and they’re all feeling equally out of their league. Ashton, especially, feels lost without Luke by his side.

He restrains himself from the urge to run home, knowing Luke got out 15 minutes earlier and should be there by now. He walks as fast as he can, in part to avoid the boys who go the same way. When he finally gets there, it’s a huge relief.

“Ashton,” Luke says, smiling. “Hey.”

Ashton comes inside and Luke pulls him up to his room. They sit on the bed together. “Did it go better today?” Ashton crosses his fingers and hopes to death it did.

Luke’s smile falters. “Oh. Um, I guess it was okay. Nobody was—mean.”

“That’s good, right?” Ashton panics. “That’s better than them being mean.”

“I guess.” Luke looks up at Ashton. “How about you?”

“Found some friends,” he replies guiltily. “Still felt weird without you, though.”

“Just two years, right?” Luke says, pulling Ashton’s hand into his own. “Two years.”

Ashton swallows hard at the feeling of skin against skin, and nods. “Two years, and then we can be together.”

He isn’t sure what kind of _together_ he really wants.

 

* * *

 

“How was school?” Ashton asks a couple of weeks later. He always does, despite the fact that Luke has repeatedly reminded him that he doesn’t have to.

“Fine. I’m gonna start my math homework.” Luke sits down at his desk, facing away.

“I don’t want to yet. Anything interesting happen? Meet anybody new?”

“It was fine,” Luke says, but his voice carries an edge that Ashton has never heard. Luke is usually so patient, sweet, lighthearted; he doesn’t raise his voice, ever. “Can we just do our homework now?”

“Luke,” Ashton starts, his brow furrowing. “Luke, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he insists, pulling  “I have homework. Why are you being difficult?”

“Difficult?” Ashton feels crestfallen, hurt. “We always talk about our day. Why are _you_ being _mean?”_

Luke looks up, startled. _Mean._ The word hangs between them, new and sharp. Ashton swallows hard, taking in the wide-eyed alarm in Luke’s eyes. “I didn’t—I just—”

“It’s fine,” Ashton mumbles. “I know you didn’t mean to be.”

“No. I _was_ being mean. I’m sorry.” Luke swivels around in his desk chair to face Ashton. He folds his hands in his lap, slumps over. “I just don’t want to talk about school.”

“Did something happen?”

Luke shakes his head. “It’s nothing, I promise. Just woke up on the wrong side of the bed.”

Ashton doesn’t feel like grilling him and making him mad again, so he nods and lets Luke turn back to his homework. He knows Luke is frustrated with the way school is headed, and he wishes he could solve it. He wishes he could solve everything for Luke. But now they’re getting older, and he can’t solve everything. He can’t go to school with him, he can’t keep Luke all to himself.

“You'd tell me, right?” Ashton asks quietly, hands crossed in his lap.

“What?” Luke looks up again, confused.

“If something did happen, I mean. If something was wrong?”

Luke nods half heartedly, running a hand through his sandy blond hair. “Course.”

Ashton takes it for granted, their friendship, their trust. He can’t let Luke get hurt, or everything else could break.

 

* * *

 

_February 2006_

Ashton finds the group of boys who follow them to school infuriating.

He hates all of them—for laughing behind his back, for treating him like shit in school. One of them sits behind him in science, too. His name’s Michael, and he’s got emo hair and a smirk that Ashton wants to wipe off his face. He’s overheard him telling his lab partner that his dad works at a video game company, and bragging about the fact that he gets any games he wants, practically. In general, Ashton thinks he’s an asshole, and has to grit his teeth whenever he hears the kid open his mouth.

Today, Ashton knows Michael’s talking about him, because he’s being purposely loud enough to hear, and Ashton catches _fairy, saw him today_ , and he fights not to speak up. Warwick told him, always, that he should be the better man. He said that real men used their words, not their fists. Ashton trusts Warwick with all his heart, but it’s really hard not to sock Michael in the mouth.

“Can you shut up?” Ashton turns around and says, as calmly as he can. “I can hear you, you know.”

“That’s the point,” Michael says cheerfully. “Ashley, right?”

“Ashton,” he snaps.

“Sorry, I thought girls wore pink,” Michael says, and Ashton swallows hard, because he was wearing a pink shirt yesterday that he’d begged his mum for endlessly.

“Mr. Irwin, please turn around. Mr. Clifford, please focus on your work,” the teacher calls out, and Ashton flips around, scowling. “If this seating is going to be an issue, I’ll move you.”

“It won’t be an issue,” Michael says easily.

“Says you,” Ashton mutters.

The teacher gives them both a sharp look. “I hope not. Now, if you could please stop distracting the class and get back to your work?”

Ashton grudgingly turns back to his schoolwork. He doesn’t give a damn about the reproductive system of plants; he’s hurt, angry, and much more inclined to give Michael a piece of his mind. But he knows how important it is to do well in school, so he gives it up—for the time being.

But it’s not to last. Michael passes by Ashton’s table, alone this time, with that awful look on his face and that swagger that Ashton despises. “Hey, Irwin,” he yells. “Suck a dick!”

Ashton’s about fed up with Michael’s stupid attitude, and he stands, catching Michael by the arm and spinning him around. “Hey! Shut _up_.”

Michael grins. “Can’t handle a little teasing?”

“Leave me alone, Michael,” Ashton says crossly.

“Or what? You gonna fight me with flower power? Call the Powerpuff Girls?”

“What are you implying?” Ashton snaps.

“I’m just saying.” Michael smiles wickedly. “I’m not scared of a threat from someone who hangs out with a _fag_.”

Ashton lurches forward, landing his fist to Michael’s nose and knocking him backward. Within seconds they’re on the floor, and Michael is screaming and hitting weakly back, while Ashton is landing as many punches as he can. “Never again,” Ashton yells. “Don’t you ever. Say. That. Again.”

The adrenaline clouds his mind, and suddenly, he’s being yanked upwards and off Michael. He’s aware of his busted lip and a few sore spots that might bruise, but Michael looks far worse, his nose bleeding copiously over his mouth and down his chin, and clear bruises already forming. Ashton is bigger, enough to have dealt Michael some real damage, and his gut feels hollow when he looks at what he’s done. Warwick will be disappointed.

“Office, now,” the person holding him snaps, and he realizes it’s one of the deans. He’s screwed, he’s screwed, why did he do it?

Ashton stumbles along to the dean’s office, swiping at his stinging lip. He’s silent now, praying he won’t get expelled. Panic races through his veins, and he gasps for air.

The dean pulls him into the office and sits him in front of the desk. Michael is being dragged in tow, holding a dozen tissues to his nose. He looks awful, and Ashton _feels_ awful. He hadn’t even known he was capable of making someone bleed. Michael disappears into the nurse’s office, and Ashton waits as the dean sits behind the desk and folds his hands.

“What’s your name?” the dean asks.

“Ashton,” he says automatically. “Uh, Ashton Irwin, sir.”

The dean turns to the computer to pull up his files and transcript. “Year 7?”

“Yes, sir.”

The dean is silent for a moment while he reviews the information in front of him. Ashton waits anxiously, feeling his knuckles start to throb. He looks down; they’re turning a faint purple. Crap.

“Well, Mr. Irwin, it looks like you were a stellar student in primary school,” he says crisply. “I can’t find anything to suggest otherwise. Your teachers gave you glowing reviews. Yet, a month into your first term here, you’ve landed yourself in the office. Care to explain what happened?”

Ashton ducks his head in shame. “No, sir.”

“No? Well, you’re about to end up in worse trouble unless you have a very good reason. I need to know how this fight started.”

Ashton had honestly thought the question was rhetorical, but he clears his throat and dabs at his lip again with his uniform collar. It’s going to need some washing tonight. “Um, Michael and I don’t get along,” he mumbles, staring at his hands. “I didn’t mean to hit him, sir, I honestly didn’t. But he called my best friend—I can’t say it, sir.”

“I’m giving you permission to say it.”

“No, sir, it’s a bad word,” Ashton says, hushed. “I can’t.”

The dean sighs. “Write it down.” He slides a pen and a piece of paper across to Ashton.

Reluctantly, Ashton takes the paper and writes, as small as he can, _fag_. The word is as ugly on paper as it was in his ears, and he shoves it quickly back to the dean. The dean lifts the paper and reads it before setting it back down with a sigh.

“I understand wanting to protect your friend,” he says, “but rules are rules. No fighting. You started the fight, and it’s inexcusable. I’m giving you three days of after school detention. Report to room 24. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Ashton says, exhaling in relief. It could have gone so much worse; suspension, or expulsion. He wonders if Michael will be getting punished. He hopes not, because detention with Michael would be the pits.

“You can go now. I hope I don’t see you in here again.”

“You won’t, sir,” Ashton says, and hurries out just as the bell rings.

 

* * *

 

After school detention means no seeing Luke after school, in addition to a boring hour sitting in a dusty classroom. Ashton is grateful he wasn’t punished more thoroughly, but he’s less grateful for the fact that he’ll literally be sitting at a desk doing nothing. No Luke, no fun. He can’t even do his homework. And after that, he still has to go home and explain the phone call from school and the blood on his collar to his mum and Warwick.

Ashton takes a seat at one of the desks in the corner, dropping his backpack underneath the table. He keeps his eyes on the clock, watching the second hand spin. The detention bell hasn’t even rung yet. Students file in, most of them for tardies, judging by the color of the slips they hand in to the supervising teacher.

He passes the first half hour tapping on the edge of his desk all the drum beats Warwick taught him, something comforting like the thought of Luke, pretty eyes and fragile hands. He watches the clock tick down the time, doing calculations of how many seconds are left. 60 seconds in a minute, 60 minutes in an hour. 3600 seconds in all. He glances down where his fingers mark out the rhythms, and the tapping of his foot where the pedal should be, seeing purple, swollen knuckles, and dirty trainers. He’s a mess, he’s a big mess. He should have kept his hands to himself and his heart in his chest.

The tardy students leave after their required half an hour, and leave Ashton and a couple other kids just sitting at their desks. He lays his hands to rest and slumps forward, tracing all the grooves in the wooden surface that kids have etched over the years. He wonders how, and why; what does _suck a fuck_ mean? Did Caitlin know some boy was lusting after her? If he carved Luke’s name into the desk, would anyone know he had done it?

He brushes the thought from his mind as the hour mark finally passes, and he gets up, stretching his legs and picking his backpack up. He slips out the door and starts the walk home.

It’s a slow, hot walk home. The summer weather is starting to pass into autumn, but today makes it feel like February’s trying to hold on to January. He knows Luke won’t be waiting for him, it’ll be too late to go over there because his mum will be home soon, and she’ll want him to stay home for weeks to hammer in the point that fighting is wrong. He won’t tell her why, of course; she’ll only be upset.

He thinks about what to tell her. The school will have called her already, so maybe he can just say Michael started it. But how will he make it convincing?

When he walks past Luke’s house, Luke is sitting on the porch, and he stands and sprints down the path to stop Ashton.

“Where have you _been_?” he demands to know. “I’ve been waiting for nearly two hours for you to show up.”

Ashton stammers, “I—I got detention.” He pleads silently that Luke will be forgiving.

“For what?”

“I was—late,” he lies. He can’t tell Luke what Michael called him. Maybe Luke wouldn’t even know what it meant, but maybe he would; Luke’s smarter than him, at any rate. It would hurt him, and Ashton doesn’t want that. “I’m sorry. I can’t come the next two days, either. I’ve got to stay after school still.”

“Is this blood on your collar?” Luke says, concerned all of a sudden. “What happened?”

“My lips were dry, and my lip split,” he lies, pointing to the dried blood on his lip. “Hey, I gotta get home or my mum will freak. I’ll walk you to school tomorrow, alright?”

“Okay,” Luke says disappointedly. “See you, Ash.”

Ashton waves a quick and sorry goodbye, and heads home.

His mother is, as expected, home, and none too pleased, either. She grabs his face in his hand, fingers pressing against his jaw as she looks at his lip. When she’s seen her fill, she releases him. “Your school called. Said you beat up the Clifford kid. They live in the neighborhood, you know.” Her irritation is obvious. “You should clean up your lip. Why were you fighting?”

“Just had a disagreement,” Ashton mumbles, his eyes dropping to the floor. “Sorry, Mum.”

“It’s alright.” She sighs, the irritation leaking away. “This isn’t like you, Ash.”

“It won’t happen again,” he promises glumly. “I swear.”

“I hope not.” She pulls him in for a quick hug. “Now get your uniform in the wash so I can get out this blood. You have your spare for tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Go get your homework done, alright?”

He nods and goes to his bedroom, dragging his school bag behind him. The only mercies today have been small; detention instead of a punishment that would be on his permanent record, his mother not pressing for the true reason of the fight. But he supposes he’ll have to accept them, because the next two days look to be merciless indeed.

 

* * *

 

Ashton notices with some minor satisfaction the next morning that Michael’s nose is wrapped in plaster, and he scowls at Ashton whenever he glances back. Luke doesn’t seem to put the pieces together, which is a relief. After he sees Luke off, he speeds ahead to avoid Michael.

Michael doesn’t say a single word in science, just glowers at the back of Ashton’s head. At least, Ashton assumes he’s glowering; he’s afraid to turn around and catch his eye. He’s a little worried that if he does, Michael might throw a punch at him this time.

He makes it through the day unscathed, and by the time Michael drops into the detention room, Ashton’s beginning to worry, because Michael hasn’t taunted him all day, and thus far it seems uncharacteristic.

Ashton is nervous in detention, with Michael so close. He doesn’t drum today, although he wants to; instead, he fixes his eyes on the clock and literally counts the seconds in his head. He dreads the half hour mark, when the tardy kids will leave, because he will be alone with Michael. What if Michael tries to attack him?

Michael, however, is asleep in his chair.

When the bell rings for the half hour, Michael jerks awake. Ashton looks away quickly. The tardy kids get up and leave, and Ashton and Michael are nearly alone now. There are only a few kids remaining in the class around them.

Michael sees Ashton watching him and flips him off under the desk. “Go fuck yourself,” he whispers.

Ashton scowls. “You started this whole thing.”

“You broke my fucking nose,” Michael hisses back. Ashton’s perpetually impressed by his potty mouth; for 11-year-olds, it’s pretty intense.

Of course, Ashton wasn’t aware he actually broke Michael’s nose, and this is a bit of a blow. He never really wanted to hurt anyone, but nobody can call Luke things like that and get away with it. It’s just not going to fly with him.

“I didn’t mean to,” Ashton says furiously. “You called my best friend a—I can’t say it. But you deserved what you got.”

“Well I didn’t fucking _mean_ it!” Michael snaps out loud.

The supervising teacher raises her eyebrows. “No talking.”

They fall silent for a few minutes until she turns to her computer again. Then Ashton whispers, “You didn’t mean it? Why would you say something like that?”

Michael glares at his hands, turning red all over. “It’s hard to explain.”

“Hard to explain or you don’t have an explanation?”

“I _do_. Shut up. I’ll tell you later.”

“Later?”

Michael shrugs casually and goes back to sleeping upright. Ashton faces the clock again, itching now to know what Michael means. He doesn’t even like Michael; he doesn’t want to talk to him again. But he can’t imagine Michael has a good reason for calling Luke that.

When the bell finally rings, Ashton practically races out of the classroom. Michael grabs his bag and walks out almost lazily. Ashton waits by the classroom door. When Michael emerges, he gives Ashton a disdainful look. “Come on. Let’s go home. We’re in the same area anyway.”

Ashton acquiesces and begins to follow him the way home. “Why would you call Luke—that?”

“First of all, I don’t usually go around calling people fags.”

“Could have fooled me.”

“And I had a lot of reasons. I mean, for one, it’s fun to needle you. You get so worked up. It makes fucking biology a lot more interesting. Plant sex? Not as fun as it sounds, you know?”

“I know,” Ashton says grudgingly. “But that’s not a good explanation. You could have just made fun of me. Instead of him.”

“Okay, this is where you’re going to laugh,” Michael says with a grimace. “Um. So, basically, I don’t have any friends.”

“Ever wonder why?”

“Fuck off. All my friends went to Norwest. I didn’t even have that many to begin with. And if you haven’t noticed, guys appreciate when you make fun of other guys.”

“Yeah. Because they’re _dicks_ ,” Ashton points out vehemently.

“Yeah! Okay! I get it. I know.” Michael scuffs his unlaced Converse against the pavement and adjusts his fringe. “I don’t know, I just thought if I picked on you and your little friend enough, maybe someone would think I was cool.”

“How’s it working out for you?”

“Not as well as I’d hoped,” Michael says grimly. “You guys were such easy targets, though.”

“Alright, I get why you did it, but it doesn’t make it okay,” Ashton insists. “And I still think you’re mean.”

Michael groans. “Would it help if you knew I was one?”

“A what?”

Michael hesitates. “ _I’m_ a—a fag.”

Ashton is taken aback. “You shouldn’t call yourself that.”

“Ashton, did you even hear me?”

“You’re gay?”

“What, think I’m going to hell?” Michael says with a smirk. “That’d be ironic.”

“Why?”

“Isn’t your friend—?”

“I’ve never asked,” Ashton says shortly. “Why do you think this makes a difference?”

Michael sighs out loud, shoving his hands in his jumper pockets. “Look. I’m sorry, okay? I was kind of scared about coming here, and I didn’t know what to do. I already told you, I just thought it would help me make friends. Now I feel like a dick.”

“You are a dick.”

“A dick with a reason,” Michael points out. “I’ll do what you want, okay? Whatever it takes to prove to you that I didn’t mean it. I happen to think I’m a lot of fun once you get to know me. Just. You know. Most people don’t.”

Ashton does feel sorry for him; and unfortunately, he can understand why Michael did everything he did. He’s still pissed, but within reason. “I’m sorry I broke your nose,” he says plainly. “You have to apologize to Luke.”

“That it?”

“That’s all you have to apologize for. But it better be good,” he warns Michael. “You better not make him cry. Because I’ll break something else if you do.”

“Then can we be friends?”

“Slow down, speed racer,” Ashton says grimly. “I’m not sure I want to be friends. I was just breaking your nose yesterday.”

Michael looks a little disappointed. “Fine. When do you want me to apologize?”

“This weekend. I’m going to be at Luke’s house, if all goes well. You know where I live. He lives right next door, in the two story house. Be there. I’m warning you. This is your only chance.”

Michael nods, accepting his fate. “Okay. I’ll be there.”

“And if I ever hear you say something like that about him again, you better hope you have good medical insurance.”

 

* * *

 

Michael comes on Saturday as promised. Ashton answers the door, knowing Luke will only be confused. “This is your chance,” Ashton says in a low voice. “You make fun of him, call him names—you’re out of here.”

“I get it,” Michael says irritably. “Take me to him.”

Ashton leads Michael up to Luke’s room, where Luke is sitting cross legged on the floor and watching Cinderella. He looks up in surprise upon their entrance. “Ash? Who is this?”

“His name is Michael,” Ashton says hurriedly. “And he’s got something to say to you.”

“Right,” Michael says, clearing his throat. “Um, well, I guess you didn’t know this, but—I’m a dick. As Ashton has pointed out. And yesterday I called you a fag, and Ashton broke my nose. I came to apologize.”

Luke looks blank. “He broke your nose?”

“If it makes you feel better, he’s gay,” Ashton says helpfully. “Although that didn’t make me feel better.”

"Still like girls, though," Michael adds cheerfully.

“Is this why you got detention?”

Luke asks suspiciously.

“Guilty,” Ashton says with a small smile.

“Well, I forgive you, of course,” Luke says simply, as if it were a given.

“You do?” Michael blinks rapidly, surprised. “Are you sure?”

“'Course I am. Cinderella forgave her ugly stepsisters. And they were much meaner than you.”

For a nine year old, Luke straddles a strange dichotomy between maturity and innocence. Ashton has never known such an anomaly.

“Want to stay for Cinderella?” Ashton offers to Michael, cracking a smile. “Looks like she’s just about to go to the ball.”

“You guys like this shit?” Michael says incredulously, and Ashton stomps on his foot. “Ow. Um, I mean, how could anyone not? Sure, I’ll stay.” He sits tentatively on Luke’s bed.

To Michael’s credit, he behaves himself, and makes sure to compliment Luke’s flower barrette before he goes that evening. Ashton isn’t sure he can learn to like Michael, but he’s starting to doubt whether or not he hates him.

 

* * *

 

_March 2006_

Michael begins to eat lunch with Ashton at school, and proves himself to be a decent human being. He’s still an asshole, and a pain in the neck, but Ashton has grudgingly grown a little fond of him. Especially as, in an odd twist, Michael has turned out to be viciously protective of both Ashton and Luke.

When they go over to Michael’s house, his parents aren’t home most of the time. They work a lot, like all of their parents do—only, he says, sometimes they take trips away. For days. He’s alone in the house quite a bit, but he says his dad always leaves him new video games, and he doesn’t look too upset about it.

The perk of it is that he has tons of video games lying around, and Ashton hasn’t played very many; Luke has had some practice with his brothers, but they usually make fun of him and continually beat him, so it’s not quite as fun. Today they decide to stick with the typical Mario Kart Double Dash, which is a few years old but one of Michael’s favorites.

“I wanna be Princess Peach,” Luke says imperiously, right off the bat. Nobody wants to argue, so Ashton takes King Boo and Michael goes with Bowser.

Ashton has it figured out pretty fast. Michael’s a damn pro at it—understandably, seeing this is all he does. Luke’s still falling off the ravines and coming in last.

“See, if you go with one of the princesses, they get blown off the road more easily,” Michael explains to him. “They’re lighter. Here, try Bowser. He’s too big to knock off, most of the time.”

He trades controllers with Luke, and reminds him how the buttons work. “Watch for certain signs, too, so you know to get out of the way,” he explains. “And here, there’s a shortcut to getting a head start. When the green lights turn on, press down the A button. Ashton and I will wait until it starts.”

Ashton is thrilled that Michael is so patient with Luke. Not many boys their age would be, especially to a boy who’s two years younger. Luke still manages to lose most of the time, although Ashton’s pretty sure that when he doesn’t lose, it’s because Michael’s purposely knocking him off the road and then throwing himself off. Luke’s success rate is still pretty minimal.

Walking home that day, Ashton ventures a question. “Are you alright with Michael?”

Luke smiles. “Yeah, of course. Why?”

“I was just wondering,” Ashton stumbles. “I mean, for so long it’s just been us two, and—I don’t want you to feel left out or something. Because I’ll see him at school and stuff. And he doesn’t really have any other friends, and if we were his friends, I would want us all on equal ground. Like, he could come over after school with me and stuff, and we’ll start doing things as a group and—I was just wondering.” He shuts his mouth then, worried.

Luke laughs out loud. “I don’t mind. Are _you_ okay with it?”

“It’s my idea, of course I am,” he says indignantly.

“Then it’s settled. He can come over after school, and we’ll be a group.”

 

* * *

 

_July 2006_

By the time July rolls around, Michael’s fully ingratiated himself in both their friendship and their families. Luke’s mother chides at him like she chides at all her boys, Ashton included, and that’s how they know Michael’s made it. It’s slightly infuriating, but Michael and Luke get on really well.

It’s between their birthdays, and they’re celebrating it together. They’ve gotten ice cream, and now it’s time to bring Michael to the fields, because the daisies are in full bloom and it’s where they usually spend most of their summer.

“Where are we going?” Michael complains as they lead him out the backyard.

“Hop the fence,” Ashton tells him. “Come on.”

Michael looks skeptically at both of them, hesitating. “Is this illegal?”

“Chicken?” Luke says with a grin. “Go on, it’s fine. We do it all the time.”

Michael doesn’t look so sure, so Ashton grabs him around the middle and lifts him over the fence, trying to avoid his indignant kicking. When he’s over, Ashton climbs over, and Luke is quick to follow.

“So this is where you guys hang out without me?”

“We couldn’t just let you come with us,” Ashton says. “You had to prove yourself first.”

“And I have?”

“No, but it’s our birthdays, and we always come here.” Ashton jostles him to show him he’s joking, and Michael rolls his eyes.

“Now you’re one of us,” Ashton sings.

Luke chants, “One of us. One of us. One of us.”

“Alright, so why this field?” Michael asks as they traipse along.

“Because nobody bothers us. No brothers, no sisters, no parents. No dog,” Luke adds as an afterthought. “Just me and Ash. And now you.”

“I’m touched. Thank you for taking me to a giant field to profess your love.”

“Shove off,” Ashton says, rolling his eyes. He glances back to see the houses have become distant. They’ve been walking for a while; the backfields stretch for ages. It ends somewhere in the suburbs, he knows. For today, it should be far enough. “Alright, here.”

They sit down. In the midst of the daisies, they’re nearly hidden, the stalks coming up by their heads. When they were little, it was easy to sit down and get lost.

“Now for tradition.” Luke starts pulling daisies and stringing them together; he’s an expert, having worn them to school and making them every weekend, every birthday. His hands are smaller than the other two, and his crowns are always the most delicate. “Michael, you have to make one too.”

“Okay,” he replies, brow furrowing. Ashton’s already working carefully on his, trying not to split any stems all the way. He chooses only the prettiest daisies, knowing his will go to Luke.

“This is hard,” Michael complains, and Ashton suppresses a smile.

“You’re ripping them too far. You only have to make a tiny slit, to fit the stem in.”

“It’s _hard_. My fingers are too fat,” Michael says, frowning. “It’s not fair. Luke has baby hands.”

“Hey,” Luke protests.

Ashton shoves Michael lightly, and in a few minutes, they’re done. Michael sets his crown on Ashton, Ashton puts his on Luke, and Luke’s, the neatest and loveliest, goes to Michael.

“You are officially our best friend,” Luke says offhandedly, a casual comment, but Michael glows, and Ashton remembers that before he met (antagonized) them, he didn’t have a friend at all.

“I love you guys,” Michael says happily. “Even though you make me do ridiculous things.”

“Well, suck it up,” Ashton says cheerfully. “You’re in for the long haul.”“How does it feel?” Luke teases Michael.

“Good,” Michael says honestly. “You guys are, like, the best friends I’ve ever had. I’m not an outcast anymore.”

In an hour or so, they rise from the fields and begin the walk back to the houses. Ashton sees the house ahead and speeds up, striding forward. His hands reach for his crown, knowing his mother should be inside. He pulls it off and hangs it on one of the wooden posts of the fence when he gets there, feeling his chest tighten.

“Are we supposed to do that too?” Michael mumbles to Luke somewhere behind.

“No,” Luke says quietly. “He always does that.” Ashton crawls over the fence, biting his lip.

“Why go to the effort of making it if he takes it off?”

“He likes it,” Luke says softly, “but he’s not allowed to be pretty.”

Ashton swallows hard and pretends he can’t hear them, because if he turned around, they’d be able to see the broken look in his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi michael  
> they're literally all gay but to be fair luke's too young to really put that out there and it seems ashton won't really admit it to himself so it's kinda a nasty coincidence. also i added some tags pls note  
> I'm going to see rowyso in exactly a week :)  
> title from forrestal sleep by keyes which is actually a really sad song but they're one of my favoritest bands yes that is a word ok  
> alright this chapter took me a while so tell me what you think i love u all the response has been awesome ahhhhh  
> ok i've said too much goodbye friends xx


	5. the fork in this road is your heart choosing heaven or hell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please note I added masturbation as a tag, it's pretty brief (a few sentences) but if it bothers you then don't hesitate to skip over it. it's under the november 2006 section. :)

_August 2006_

Ashton eats dinner slowly, unwillingly. The food is bland and sticks in his throat, and his head spins. He can’t shut it out. The room is dim and stuffy, and his grip on his fork tightens.

Lauren is staring down at her food with her lip clamped nervously between her teeth. She hasn’t eaten a bite for ages. Harry’s high chair is empty, vacated an hour ago. Now it’s just them at the table, silent.

_“Why can’t you take Lauren home from soccer? It’s ten minutes away, for God’s sake.”_

_“I told you, I’m working. I can’t just check out and do what I want.”_

_“So, what, you expect me to be the stay at home mother, drive the kids everywhere? You don’t pull your weight.”_

_“Really? That’s your problem?”_

_“My problem is that you want to live out your rock star fantasy. You’re not sixteen anymore. You’re a grown man. Act like one.”_

_“My band is helping to pay the bills. I work full time too, you know.”_

_“You’re impossible. Lauren is your child too. You can’t just back off from all your duties as a parent. You tell the kids to always make time for the people they love. Don’t fill their heads with ideas if you’re not going to practice what you preach.”_

_“That’s ridiculous. I took them to the beach last weekend. I spend time with the kids all the time. And what about you? You want your kids to be themselves, you tell Lauren to not be afraid of what the kids say to her, and if Ash wants to wear pink you go ballistic. Don’t you dare call me a hypocrite.”_

_“Don’t bring Ashton into this. You know that’s different.”_

_“Why? Because it’s not alright for him to be himself, but it is for Lauren and Harry? Because you think he’s gay?”_

Ashton winces, and puts down his fork. He feels ill, completely wiped.

“Ashton,” Lauren whispers.

“Yeah?”

“What does it mean to be gay?”

 _Oh, God._ Ashton’s heart jerks in his chest, insistent. _You’re not gay. You’re not gay. You’re not gay._

“When two boys like each other,” he whispers shakily back. “Or two girls.”

She nods and frowns down at her food. Ashton’s mind spins around the three words, dizzy and sick. He forces down another bite, his throat tight and unforgiving.

Lately, this has been the new normal.

“Do you think Mum would notice if I didn’t finish my dinner?” Lauren asks timidly. She’s waiting, Ashton realizes. She defaults to him. He’s always taken care of his siblings like a father, and now it’s ingrained.

“Just leave it here,” Ashton says softly. Lauren scurries off to her room, eager to escape.  He moves slower, hanging on to the fragments he can hear. Afraid to miss a word, afraid to hear something that might hurt. Afraid of what it means.

He walks down the hallway, head down. In the kitchen, his parents don’t notice; they continue to bicker, and he whispers to himself, _you’re not gay, you’re not gay, you’re not gay._ His lips move, but his throat is closed, and he doesn’t make a sound.

 

* * *

 

_September 2006_

“Did you see the new kid?” Michael says when he sits down with his hot lunch. “Pretty cute, huh?”

Ashton thinks that the new kid is nothing much to talk about; he’s the same pimply, unsightly thing as all the other boys. Maybe his hair is a nice shade of brown, and his eyes are really quite pretty, but he’s dumb as doornails.

“Don’t think so,” he says indifferently. “You think all the boys are cute.”

“Not all,” he protests. “I like the dark-haired ones.”

“Well, this one’s not cute,” Ashton argues. “He’s quite ordinary. Why don’t you go for one of the footie boys? They’re much cuter.”

“Like you’d know,” Michael says. Ashton makes a face; he’s fed up with hearing Michael prattle on about cute boys.

He sighs, leaning on his hand. His mind flashes back to Luke. Golden-haired Luke, so fair, so pale. Ashton would know; Ashton’s seen a million boys, and none so pretty as Luke.

What if he only thinks Luke is pretty because he has a feminine, delicate bone structure? Because he likes girly things and acts, sometimes, like one? Maybe he’s just as straight as anyone else; he’s confused, misled. But that feels wrong to him, like a lie. He knows he’s drawn to Luke, like a magnet.

“When did you know?” Ashton asks casually.

Michael looks up from stuffing his face. “What?”

“That you were gay. Bi. Whatever.”

“Oh.” Michael puts down his burrito. “I didn’t know right away. Like, when I was six, I wanted to try on my mum’s clothes. My cousin came over once, and she brought this little makeup starter kit, she was 12, and she wanted to try it on me. I said yeah, and then—I really liked it. Guess I knew I shouldn’t. Took me a while to realize that I wanted to do the things girls did, but that I also wanted to kiss them. Right?”

Ashton doesn’t quite understand the concept of being bi—for a 12-year-old with virtually no exposure to it, it’s a little beyond him—but he’s impressed that Michael figured it out so young.

“And your parents. They were okay with it?”

“Haven’t told them yet,” Michael admits. “They’re gone so often, never seems to be a right time. Thought I’d just blurt it out over Christmas dinner or something. You know, when everyone is happy. I think they’ll be okay, because my uncle’s gay, and they’re always nice to him.”

Ashton nods and turns back to his lunch, although it looks unappetizing and insurmountable. He has to be wrong, he has to be confused; being gay sounds difficult, and fraught with obstacles.

If he denies it to himself, there’s no reason anyone else has to know. There’s no reason for Luke to reject him—and no way for his mother to shame him.

In silence, there is safety, and Ashton clings to that hope.

 

* * *

 

_November 2006_

“I’m here,” Luke announces as he walks through the door. He knows where the spare key is now, and makes frequent use of it. “Ashton?”

“In the living room,” he calls, eyes fixed on the TV where Tom and Jerry battle it out. Saturday mornings are full of cartoons and Luke; the house is quiet, both parents gone in the mornings for work, and his siblings still asleep. It’s a haven.

“I saw Michael at the supermarket yesterday,” Luke says eagerly. “Look! He. gave me stickers. They’re butterfly stickers.”

“Cool,” Ashton says with a smile.

“Is your mum home?” Luke asks innocently.

“No, why?”

Luke plops down on Ashton’s lap, straddling him. They both know it wouldn’t fly if Ashton’s mother was home.

He smells of strawberry body wash, the kind he’s seen in Luke’s shower. His face is awfully close to Ashton’s. He’s showing Ashton his stickers, but Ashton’s mind is somewhere else; all he can think about is the feeling of Luke’s legs bracketing his, the slight weight.

“See here, and here,” Luke says, pointing to the butterfly sticker adorning each cheek, “is where I put the pretty ones.” He reaches into his pocket, pulling one more out. “This one is my favorite,” he adds. “I like it best. But you can have it, so we can both be pretty.”

“Oh,” Ashton chokes out. _Grandmothers. Godzilla. Scooby Doo_. “Th-thanks.”

“Here,” Luke says, peeling it off the backing. He takes Ashton’s right hand in his own and pastes it on, patting it once for good measure. “Pretty, right?”

Ashton forces a smile, fear racing in his veins. If Luke shifts just a little bit, he’s screwed. “Wanna watch Tom and Jerry?”

“Okay,” Luke agrees, sliding off his lap and sitting next to him instead. Ashton breathes a slight sigh of relief. His relief is short-lived, because there’s still a problem of _oh god what if he notices?_

Ashton crosses his legs and pulls a pillow over his lap. This can’t be happening; teenage boys are supposed to spring boners at _everything_. Michael told him so. It has absolutely, completely, nothing to do with Luke sitting on him.

Luke decides to lean his head on his shoulder. Ashton stiffens, holding in a curse. His grip on the pillow tightens, and he strains to think about normal, neutral subjects that will take his train of thought away from Luke. _Oh, god, please don’t let anything happen._

Ashton has some vague, probably misinformed idea about what you’re actually supposed to do with boners, but he’s survived every one so far by willing it away and praying. There’s no way he’d consider relieving a boner that Luke gave him, of all things.

Being twelve is hard.

After two grueling episodes of Tom and Jerry, Luke finally kisses Ashton’s cheek and gets up. “I’m gonna go home,” he says. “You don’t look too well.”

“I don’t?” Ashton says, startled.

“Little pale and sweaty,” Luke says with a smile. “Want me to call your mum?”

There is nothing Ashton wants less. “No, no, it’s fine. Uh, the cereal just probably went bad. Or the milk. I don’t know.” Ashton is aware he’s spouting nonsense and, as Michael calls it, thinking with his dick. Can he help it? By everything he knows from the watered down version of sex ed the teachers pushed in Year 4, it makes sense, because technically speaking all the blood has gone from his head straight to down under.

“Okay. Get better,” Luke says sweetly. “Call my house if you need me back.”

Ashton has the keen sense that he won’t be calling Luke back today.

When Luke is gone, Ashton stumbles to the bathroom, grateful that his mother isn’t home. He sits on the toilet lid and scrunches his eyes shut, willing it away. He wants to die. It’s not because of Luke. It’s because of puberty. That’s the end all answer. Ashton is safe and guilt-free.

But no matter how much he thinks about gross and horrifying things, he can’t seem to kill it. He pulls out his phone, the one he got for his birthday, and texts Michael. Michael will know what to do.

His text is pleading and desperate, and Michael is prompt to reply.

_Michael: touch it lol_

Touch it? Ashton stares dumbfounded at his phone. Surely not. It’s not right to do that. He’s too young, too unsure. But Michael knows what he’s talking about when it comes to this thing, right?

Uncertainly, Ashton tugs at his jeans, letting them pool around his feet before stepping out of them. He feels foolish as he slips his boxers down too, and his dick arches towards his stomach. He’s almost afraid, because he’s never done this and it’s bad, it’s very bad, he’s going to hell. His thighs are shaking and so is his hand, frightened and overwhelming thoughts racing in his head.

_Don’t do it. You’re going to be sorry. What if Mum finds out? What if anyone finds out?_

_Michael knows how to fix it._

_You’re not sure. Take a cold shower, doesn’t that work?_

Trembling, he reaches down to touch the shaft, hips jerking forward in surprise at the touch. He shuts his eyes, because it’s obscene and new and scary and it knocks the wind right out of him, and it’s easier if he can’t see. He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do, so he tentatively strokes up and down, stomach tightening.

He’s not sure if he’s doing it right, he’s clenching his teeth so hard it hurts because he’s deathly scared of what comes next, but then his thumb accidentally slips over the top and the memory of Luke sitting on his lap flashes through his vision, and then he’s swallowing a gasp and spilling into his own hand.

It feels like his whole world gets turned on its head, like a wave of euphoria washing over him. He’s never felt such a strong sense of contentment, such intense sensations; it leaves him breathless and fuzzy, warmth spreading through his extremities.

When his breathing slows and his head clears, he uses his clean hand to yank up his pants again and sticks the other under the faucet. His head spins with the pleasure of it, light on his feet for a minute or two.

But then he’s crashing to Earth.

His eyes catch on the sticker Luke pasted onto his hand. Oh god. What has he done? How will he ever look his mother in the eye again? He can’t ever touch anything with his right hand again.

How could he do something so shameful with the very hand that Luke stuck a symbol of innocence and youth to? The sticker is ruined, soggy and wet. It peels off easily when he tugs at it with a wobbly hand.

He makes a tiny, wounded noise in the back of his throat, unable to contain it. Fear washes over him, worse than before. Clean and dressed, he sits heavily back on the lid of the toilet, hands rubbing his knees. _You’re not gay. You’re not gay. You’re not gay._

Why did he think of Luke? It would have been so much easier to excuse it if he hadn’t, and now his throat is tightening. Oh, God, he’s overwhelmed; he can’t be gay. He really can’t. His mother won’t stand for it.

He inhales through constricted lungs, fighting to stay calm. The realization hits him like sandbags to the stomach.

_What if you are gay?_

His throat closes off and there are tears in his eyes. He shuts them tight. It feels like his whole body is rejecting the thought. He wants to rewind, wants to have taken a cold shower instead of this. Then he could have held on to the belief, however misguided, that he wasn’t gay.

He doesn’t let himself cry, but it feels like falling apart.

 

* * *

 

_February 2007_

The new school year starts off in full swing, and Ashton is more swept up in schoolwork than ever. Year 8 requires a higher level of work, and it means he and Michael can no longer go over to Luke’s after school. It’s a blow to all of them, but partially a relief to Ashton, who still relives his first experience with masturbation more frequently than he should. Cutting down on seeing Luke gives him the peace of mind he needs to focus on school. They still walk to school together, and Ashton finds himself over at Luke’s or Michael’s during the weekend to get out of his increasingly tumultuous household.

There’s always something to fight about, it seems; Warwick’s commitment to his band, his mother’s strict morals, who forgot to take out the trash and whose fault it was. Ashton hasn’t told Michael or Luke about it yet, afraid their view of his household, or him, might be tarnished. And he refuses to admit, to himself mostly, where it appears their relationship is heading.

He spends weekdays sorting through not only his own homework but Lauren’s, sneaking his siblings the snacks he keeps in his drawer if they get hungry and don’t want to risk getting in the middle of a kitchen fight. Weekends, though, he’s at his limit, and he needs an escape that his best friends so happily provide.

Today, though, Luke shows up at his house in the evening. The sun is still going down. Ashton is still doing his homework to a background track of distant arguing, and he didn’t expect to find Luke standing outside his window and tapping gently.

Ashton gets up from his desk and motions for him to stop. Carefully, he slides open the window and sticks his head out. “Luke?” he says, surprised. “What are you doing?”

“I’m sorry,” Luke says, and there’s something wrong about his eyes that has Ashton worried. “Can we—can we go to the fields?”

Ashton glances at where Harry is reading a picture book on his bed. The sound of his mum and Warwick arguing sharpens in his ears, and he looks down at his homework where he’s been trying the same math problem for twenty minutes. “Okay,” he says. “Hold on. I gotta get Lauren to watch Harry.” Luke nods and steps back.

Ashton picks Harry up by his under arms. “Gonna take you to Lauren,” he tells him.

“Where we going?” Harry asks, smiling up at him trustingly. Ashton loves that about him; he’s such a smiley baby, so unaffected by the turmoil around him. He doesn’t see the stress in Ashton’s face the way Lauren does, doesn’t listen to the shouting. Ashton wonders if he was like that; surely, when he was a baby, a toddler, he didn’t see these things either.

“You’re gonna stay with Lauren,” he tells him, carrying him to Lauren’s room. Lauren looks up; she’s been lying on her bed, playing with her stuffies. “Lauren? Can you watch Harry for a while?”

Her face scrunches up, confused. “Why can’t you?”

“I need to do something,” he says. “You can have my dessert for a week, eat all the snacks in my room.” It’s not a huge loss to him, seeing as he often gives it to his siblings anyway, both of them stealing bites of his ice cream and sneaking into his room to get the cookies. But it sounds like a good deal to Lauren, who nods. “Thanks, Loz. I’ll be back in an hour or two, okay? If Mum and Warwick ask, I went for a walk.”

She doesn’t reply to that, pulling Harry up onto the bed with her and watching him seriously. Ashton leans forward to give her a quick kiss on the forehead and then ducks out, back to his room. Luke is waiting anxiously.

Ashton climbs over his desk and up onto the windowsill, pulling open the glass and removing the screen. He sets it on his desk, and then climbs through the window frame.

“You could have gone through the front door,” Luke says, brow furrowing.

“You could have knocked,” Ashton replies. Luke falls silent, because they know, even if they don’t say so, that they can’t risk being seen.

They hurry across the yard and over to Luke’s house, where they make a quick path through the side fence and into the backyard. Luke climbs over the back fence first, and Ashton is hot on his heels. Luke sets a breakneck pace, his features rigid and composed. His eyes seem to burn, and Ashton struggles to keep up.

“How far?” Ashton asks, breathing hard. “We’re far enough, Luke.”

Luke’s jaw tenses, but he acquiesces and flops down in the daisies, hands in his lap. Ashton folds his legs in front of him, waiting.

“Can we talk?” Luke says, biting his lip viciously.

“Okay,” Ashton says patiently. “What’s going on?”

Luke frowns at his hands, taking a deep breath. “I don’t want you or Michael to punch anyone.”

“What?” Ashton says, confused. “Luke?”

Luke yanks up a daisy with more force than necessary, then tosses it away. “There’s this boy at school,” he says softly. “And he, he doesn’t like me. He’s my grade, and he—won’t leave me alone.” He struggles for a moment, eyes beginning to fill with tears. “He just says mean things.”

“Mean?” Ashton says, the words punched from him. His stomach aches at that. “What did he say?”

“Nothing,” Luke says, oh-so-quietly. “Just—he makes fun of when I wear girly things. Like, I know it’s not normal for boys to wear these things. Or to be like me.” A tear spills over his cheek then. “I’m not stupid,” he says, his voice strained with the duress of holding in tears. Ashton knows the feeling, the sound. “I see it. I see the way people look at me. I’m not stupid.”

“No,” Ashton says, his voice giving out. “I know.”

Luke rips out his hairclip so hard it takes some hair with it, and then he cocks his arm back and pitches it, with so much frustration written on his face Ashton hardly recognizes him. “I’m tired of people being _mean_ ,” he says, shrinking. “It makes me wonder what’s wrong with me.”

Unexpectedly, Luke’s breath hitches, and then his face crumples and he’s shaking, tears running over his fingers. Ashton reaches forward and pulls Luke onto his lap, letting him cry into the shoulder of his t-shirt. For a few minutes, his heart beats erratically, afraid to do something wrong. He’s only seen Luke cry a few times, and never over what people said. Maybe it never even crossed his mind that Luke took it to heart like anyone else; maybe he never considered that Luke, light on his feet, could be just as heavy-hearted as everyone else. Luke cries silently, and Ashton clutches him close.

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” Ashton whispers. “You’re perfect. Beautiful. It’s okay.”

Ashton doesn’t know if Luke can hear him when he whispers, _I love you._

Eventually Luke’s trembling body stills in Ashton’s arms, and Ashton kisses his forehead lightly, a kiss so gentle, it might not be there at all. Luke’s whole body quakes as he clings tightly to Ashton. Ashton’s shoulder is wet and warm with tears.

Ashton hurts, knowing Luke is in pain. The year ahead looks equally impossible for both of them, and he can’t help thinking growing up should have been easier than this.

 

* * *

 

_A_ _pril 2007_

Ashton thinks he must be the luckiest person in the whole world during Term 1 hols this year. The Hemmings’ are going for a week to a rented beach house on the coast, and not only did they offer, but his mum agreed to let him go more easily than expected. Ashton is thrilled to spend a whole week away from home and his family (something he has never done before) and even more thrilled to spend it with Luke and _his_ family. And of course, it’s an arguing-free week.

Michael complains bitterly about not being able to go. His parents are dragging him away for a vacation in London, and he’s afraid of flying. He’s never been out of the country. Luke tells him the plane does loop-di-loops, and Michael looks thoroughly terrified. Ashton has never had the chance to be on a plane—there’s never been enough money, or time, and now with everyone so frazzled he’s sure they’ll never take a family vacation. Michael promises to bring them both souvenirs when he gets back.

Monday morning, they load everything into the family van, stuffing suitcases and suitcases into the trunk. Luke’s parents, Jack and Ben, and Luke and Ashton each share a suitcase with each other to maximize the space. Then they pile into the car and start the journey.

It’s about a half an hour’s drive from where they live, a half hour filled with arguing, sweating, and jostling. Luke and Ashton are stuck in the back, and Ben keeps trying to whack Luke with his thong, but Luke is old enough by now to fight back, and viciously so. Jack decides he wants to play _I Spy_ with Ashton while they’re fighting, which leads to Ben and Luke finally realizing they’ve been abandoned and whining loudly about not being let into the game. It’s all very stressful, as road trips always are, but in the end, they all make it in one piece.

They tumble out when the car pulls up; Ashton is much slower, staring at the beach house. It’s a stark white with a pale blue trim, and looks like everything he dreamed up. It’s isolated, an escape—big, beautiful, magical.

“Hurry up, Ash, or you’ll be left behind,” Liz advises him with a smile, pulling a suitcase past. “Go catch up with the others.”

Ashton decides he’ll have plenty of time to gawk later, and speeds ahead to keep up. Luke’s been to the beach house before, they all have, and it’s Ashton’s first real vacation; most of his hols have been spent at home, and his stomach flutters at the realization that he’ll be here for a whole week.

“Come on,” Luke says, pulling him forward eagerly. “We gotta claim the biggest room before Jack and Ben do.”

Luke races up the steps of the front porch and bursts into the house, pushing Jack over (earning a good deal of complaining), but he quickly rushes up the stairs and into the room that faces the ocean and flops down on the bed, cheering “Dibs!” when Jack reaches the doorway and swears loudly.

“Mum! They took the best room!” Ben yells.

“Dibs is dibs,” Luke says and sticks his tongue out. “Ashton, say something mean.”

“Suck a dick,” Ashton says automatically, one of Michael’s favorite phrases. He would be so proud.

“No, you suck a dick,” Jack says sourly in retaliation. “Suck each other’s dicks, for all I care. Come on, Ben, let’s get the next door before Mum and Dad do.”

They stalk off to claim the other ocean bedroom, and Ashton giggles and flounces down on the bed next to Luke. They lie on their back, staring at the white ceiling together.

“We get to share a room, we get to share a room,” Luke sings. He rolls over on top of Ashton, who laughs and pushes him off towards the wall. Their faces are flushed and bright as they stare at each other. Luke’s hand finds Ashton. They shouldn’t act like this, so affectionate when they’re just friends, but it’s the way things have always been.

“Where will I sleep?” Ashton asks, scooting closer.

“What?” Luke looks confused. “Here, of course. Where else?”

“The bed’s awfully small, we’d have to be pressed up against each other,” Ashton points out.

“Right.” Luke pauses, thinking. “Oh! There’s a cot in the closet downstairs. I’ll sleep in it.”

“No, I will,” Ashton argues. “This is your family vacation, after all.”

“Okay, we can alternate,” Luke says reasonably. “I’ll take it tonight. Deal?”

“Fine,” Ashton groans.

“Boys! Come get your suitcases!” Liz calls from downstairs.

When the suitcases are all in order, Ashton goes about inspecting the room. The closet is decent sized, and there’s enough space on the windowsill to actually sit and watch the shore. There’s a small dresser in which they can put some clothes, too. But best of all, the strange door on the side of the room leads to a second door, which in turn leads to Jack and Ben’s claimed room.

This ends in Ashton standing sheepishly in their doorway while they’re unpacking. “Dude, get out!” Jack scoffs.

Ben smacks Jack for being rude, and Ashton fish-mouths. “Oh,” he says stupidly. “I was just exploring.”

Ben tosses Ashton a mystery t-shirt. “It’s Luke’s, and it ended up in our suitcase.”

It gives Ashton the exit he needs, and he sneaks back into his room. Luke has begun to unload the suitcase already, packing his clothes into the lower drawers of the dresser and hanging his shirts in the closet. Ashton starts to do the same.

“Mum said we can go down to the beach in a little while if we get unpacked,” Luke informs Ashton. “But we have to get Jack and Ben to come with us.”

“Well, we do have a secret hallway,” Ashton says with a wink. “All we have to do is barge in.”

“Perfect,” Luke says with a grin. “Toss me my swimsuit, would you?”

Ashton obliges, and digs his own out too. “Let’s get dressed and go, then.”

Ashton gets dressed right then and there; he has no problem with Luke seeing him naked. It’s the kind of unapologetic nudity that most boys his age embrace. When he looks at Luke expectantly, Luke flushes dark and says, embarrassed, “Turn around.”

Ashton does so. He supposes that Luke, almost 11 now, is growing into pre-pubescent awkwardness. He hasn’t quite hit puberty yet, but Ashton guesses he must be feeling a bit anxious already.

“Okay, you can turn back,” Luke says. He’s got the t-shirt Ben handed to Ashton on over his top and his pink swimming trunks. “Let’s go bother them.”

They use the secret hallway and burst into the other room, resulting in Jack throwing his head back and groaning out loud.

“You twerps just can’t leave us alone,” he complains. “What do you want?”

“We wanna go to the beach,” Luke begs, hopping up on the bed and climbing insistently into his lap. Jack leans back, bracing his hands behind him while Luke folds himself neatly on top of him. “Please?”

“What’s it worth to you?” Jack teases. “You gonna give me something in return?”

Luke flails (figuratively, of course). “Like what? I didn’t bring anything that you’d want.”

“Streak down the beach,” Ben offers from where he’s putting things away.

Luke looks so genuinely horrified that Jack laughs and shoves him off. “Relax, kiddo. We’ll go. Let us change first at least.”

“I’m not streaking,” Luke says cautiously.

“Yeah, come on,” Ashton says, tugging him out of the room.

They head down to the beach a half an hour later, swimsuit-clad and in good spirits. The sun is bright and hot, especially by April standards. The fall is late this year, and the beaches are busy. The holidays are more or less the same all across New South Wales, and there are a good deal of school children scattered across the sands in the distance. It’s much quieter by the house, private property and all, and allows them to have a small section of the beach to themselves. It’s rockier, but shallow and warm.

“Hurry up, geezers,” Jack shoots back at them.

They set their towels and things all in one area, far enough to be safe from the tide. Then Ashton grabs Luke by the hand and drags him, shrieking, towards the water.

“Stop, no!” Luke protests. “My shirt is on!”

Ashton grins wickedly and pulls harder. Ben rushes up from behind and lifts Luke off the ground and begins running towards the ocean. “Time to get wet!”

“No!” Luke screams, laughing and kicking. Ben drops him where the water is deeper and Luke goes under for a moment before coming back up, trademark golden hair almost a light brown when wet. He’s quick to get on his feet and shove Ben into the water. He’s getting stronger, and he’s speedy. Jack hoists Ashton off his feet unexpectedly and throws him in too.

By the time they’ve exhausted themselves, they’re all drenched. Luke has ditched his soaked t-shirt and Ashton has been trying to dig up sand crabs, managing to slip one down the front of Ben’s swim trunks when he gets close enough. After that, they’re all a little more careful to guard their genitalia when they see Ashton coming.

Finally, Luke gets up and says he’s going back up to the house to grab snacks. Jack goes with him to help him carry it out. Ashton sticks behind with Ben, the two of them lazing in the sand under an umbrella.

As soon as the other two are out of earshot, Ben springs into action, handing Ashton a shovel. “Quickly. Bury me in sand up to my neck and then put a towel over my face and on me. Then get Jack to sit on me, and I’ll come up and scare him. Before he comes back, hurry.” Ben starts digging a trench to lie in, furiously working.

Ashton giggles and joins him. Ben is fairly short, Jack having passed him a year ago, and so that part is done quickly. Ben throws himself down into the trench and shuts his eyes, and Ashton works rigorously to cover him in a thick layer of sand. It takes almost ten minutes, and he’s swearing, nervous the other two boys will come back before he’s done. When he finally covers Ben up, he says frantically, “What do I say to explain how you disappeared?”

“Went—to shower off a bit. There’s one down the beach, and Mum doesn’t like when we bring sand into the house.”

Ashton nods and sets about looking like he’s just lounging about. In a few minutes, Jack and Ben return, toting coolers. “Where’d Ben go?” Jack asks.

“Shower,” Ashton says vaguely. “He should be back soon. He looks at where Ben lies, silent and motionless, the towels lying in a convenient place.

Luke immediately goes to sit on his towel. Ashton moves to warn him, realizing too late he switched up the towels, and then Ben is rising out of the sand with a garbled yell, wrapping his arms around a screaming Luke.

“Oh my god!” Luke screeches, terrified until he realizes it’s Ben and his heart slows down. He keeps a hand on his chest, panting. “You scared me.” He shoves at Ben’s chest and glares at Ashton accusingly. “You helped him.”

Ashton grins. “Yeah, I did.”

“Traitor,” Luke hisses, grabbing a soda and a sandwich and pouting in the sand.

“Oh, don’t be mad,” Ashton says, settling next to him and pulling an arm around him. “I still love you. It was meant to be Jack, anyway.”

“Wow. Rude,” Jack spits. “I regret bringing you ungrateful slobs back anything.”

“It was just a bit of fun, loosen up,” Ben responds amiably.

As the afternoon stretches on, Ashton and Luke set about making sand castles with one of the empty plastic cups, stacking sand like a card castle. It falls down several times (partially thanks to Jack purposely stomping around or on it), but it’s still fun. Ashton loves the feeling of the sand between his fingers, especially warm and dry. He hasn’t been to the beach in ages, and everything tastes like freedom and exhilaration, even the salt spray of the ocean.

When the sky starts to dim, they pack everything up to go back to the house. Between the four of them, they just manage to juggle everything back.

After dinner, Luke drags Ashton back up to their room, and they sit on the windowsill together while they wait for the sun to go down entirely. Luke is wearing a nightie, of all things, which normally would make Ashton’s dick and stomach do frightening things, but so far removed from home and normalcy simply strikes affection in his heart. Luke scoots close to Ashton, fingers brushing over his leg. Ashton shivers, pressing his own hand against the cold glass window. The ocean is dark against the dim evening backdrop, but Ashton likes watching it all the same.

“I really like it here,” Ashton admits, his voice husky and low. “It’s beautiful.”

Luke smiles. “I know.” He leans his head on Ashton’s shoulder sleepily. Ashton sighs.

“We should try to sleep if we’re going back down to the beach in the morning,” Ashton murmurs. “C’mon.”

Luke reluctantly rises from the window seat and slides into the cot. “Tuck me in,” he says, pawing at the front of Ashton’s shirt. Ashton pulls the covers up around him and kisses his forehead.

“See you in the morning,” he says, and climbs into bed himself. The sound of the ocean permeates the walls and lulls him to a half-consciousness full of groggy thoughts.

It’s easy to believe miles away from home that he loves Luke; it feels easy and right, like the gentle pull of the waves tugging him out to sea. He can’t imagine someone in his life meaning more to him than Luke—no girl could be as beautiful as Luke, as sweet. It’s so much simpler here, where the sand meets the water and the water meets the sky. There are a million shades of blue between the sky and the ocean that he could look at Luke’s eyes all day and find a fragment of nature in the streaks and ethereal patterns.

He loves Luke, that much is incontrovertible, but he isn’t sure in what way.

“Ashton,” Luke whispers into the darkness. Ashton jerks fully awake, heart pounding.

“Yeah?”

“I’m cold,” Luke whispers piteously.

“You can have my blanket,” Ashton offers, and is met with silence. Did Luke fall asleep? Maybe he missed the reply. Then—oh. “Come on,” he whispers. “Get in.”

Luke is out of the cot in seconds and is scrambling into bed next to Ashton, pressing his cold little hands against his side. He wasn’t lying, but Ashton gets the feeling they would have ended up in the bed together no matter what. And it feels right, to be tangled up together under the sheets, intertwined in a mess of gangly teenage limbs and grabby hands.

It feels like home.

 

* * *

 

The whole family goes down to the beach the next day, dragging surf boards and similar paraphernalia. Ben and Jack have had surfing lessons for a few years now and are good enough to try the real waves. Ashton and Luke have decided to stick to boogie boards, figuring that neither of them have the balance or swimming skills for surfing (Ashton trips over level ground, and Luke hasn’t taken enough swimming lessons to be comfortable in the ocean).

They stick close to the shore. Ashton gets brave and paddles into the small waves just beyond the sand and ocean border. If he wasn’t trying to keep an eye on Luke, he would go further. He’s a strong swimmer at almost 13, and isn’t afraid of the water’s depth and pull so much as simply losing Luke.

Luke sticks by the water’s edge, sitting on his board where it’s shallow enough for toddlers. “Come on,” Ashton calls. “Come a little farther. It’s fun, I promise.”

Luke shakes his head, too afraid. Ashton paddles to where he is and takes the string of his board in hand. Luke doesn’t say anything as Ashton pulls him further into the water, trusting him.

“This is far enough,” Luke says nervously.

“The wave’s coming, hold onto your board and shut your eyes,” Ashton instructs. “Trust me.”

The wave approaches and lifts them both. Luke grips tightly onto his board, drifting back to shore. He breathes a sigh of relief and Ashton grins.

“Again,” Luke says, gaining a bit of courage.

“Just paddle into the wave,” Ashton says. “You don’t need me.”

Luke bites his lip and pushes forward. Ashton stays in the shallows to watch him. Luke catches the wave again with an audible gasp of delight. Ashton smiles and goes for a small wave as Luke floats past back to shore.

“Stay close,” Ashton reminds him. “Don’t go where you can’t stand.”

But Luke gets too confident, too ambitious. He paddles towards a bigger wave farther out, and Ashton gets that feeling of dread deep in his gut. As soon as Luke hits the wave, it flips him off his board, and Luke’s wrist is so tiny that it slips right out of the cuff that’s meant to hold him to his board. The board pops up without him, and Ashton ditches his board fast and swims towards the little blond head that keeps bobbing to the surface, the pale face that reaches for the sun.

He tries to remember what his swimming coach taught him; freestyle is the most efficient, although he hates the feeling of being facedown in the water. He can taste the salt water on his lips, and his muscles ache. But it takes him just a minute to fight through the waves and grab onto Luke, hauling him to the surface. The board floats towards shore, and Ashton tries to pull Luke in the same direction. It’s hard work to drag him, even half his size and whatnot, but Ashton churns through the water. He finally gets to the board and grabs onto it, letting Luke crawl back on. Ashton can almost stand, and he pulls Luke onto the sand. Luke rolls off the board, coughing. Ashton catches his own breath a foot away.

“You idiot,” Ashton says, wheezing. “I told you to stay close.” Luke laughs unexpectedly and sits up in the sand, still coughing intermittently. Ashton stares at him irritably. “What? Think it’s funny that you almost died?”

“No,” Luke says, trying to repress a smile. “Can I do it again?”

Ashton smacks his arm and groans, lying back in the sand.

 

* * *

 

The family goes out to pizza that night, sliding into a booth by the windows. Luke, Ashton, and Liz on one side, and Andy and Luke’s brothers on the other. They order a big pizza to share.

“I almost drowned,” Luke says proudly, “and Ashton saved me.”

“What happened?” Andy asks with a sigh.

“I went too far and lost my board,” Luke says. “But Ashton swam out and got me.”

“Oh, Ashton, what would we do without you?” Liz says teasingly. “Luke, now, we’ll start watching you closer if you keep doing dangerous things.”

“Ashton handled it,” Luke protests.

“And we’re very grateful. Thank you, Ash.”

Ashton blushes and digs further into his pizza. He hadn’t planned on telling them of the day’s events, afraid they would be angry at him for not keeping a better eye on Luke. It seems quite the opposite. They scold Luke instead.

“And you’re lucky Ashton was there to rescue you,” Liz finishes. “And that’s why he’s our favorite son.”

Ashton nearly chokes then, causing Luke to hammer on his back helpfully until he stops coughing. “Oh, God, no, it was fine,” he says hurriedly. “It really wasn’t that exciting.”

“He’s being humble,” Luke insists. “Anyways. What are we doing tomorrow?”

Turns out they’re going into the town in the afternoon to explore the quaint little shops along the coast. It’s within walking distance, and they’ll spend the day there. It also means they can sleep in and have a nice breakfast.

They head back to the beach house. Ashton still feels like jelly inside, like his face is red enough to explode. They all insist on thanking him and reprimanding Luke, though Luke doesn’t look much put out about it.

When they slide into bed that night, there’s no question of using the cot; they press right up against each other, reveling in the warmth of two bodies over one. Ashton is still quiet, thinking about all that had happened that night.

“Stop thinking,” Luke whispers knowingly. “It’s okay, you know.”

“You shouldn’t have told them about it,” Ashton disagrees.

“Why not?” Luke’s breath fans hotly over his neck.

“I just swam,” Ashton protests lightly. “It wasn’t, like, some heroic thing.”

“Is that it?” Luke is soft, surprised. His small curled fist comes to rest on Ashton’s heaving chest. “You were worried about that?”

“I thought you were gone for a moment,” Ashton counters. “I got scared. Because—because—” _Because I have loved you for so long. Because if I hadn’t brought you back out, the ocean would have swallowed you. Because I can’t imagine living alone, without you._ “I just don’t think it was a big deal.”

“You are a hero, though,” Luke says.

“No, I was afraid and I acted on instinct.”

“You acted on the instinct to save me. Like you always do.” Luke has never sounded so loving to Ashton’s ears. “And that’s why I tell people about you. Because you’re a hero to me.”

Ashton lets out a long, shuddering breath and wraps his arms around Luke’s torso. He presses his lips to the top of Luke’s head. “I love you.” Luke might never know how much, or in what way.

“I know,” Luke says. “I love you too.”

 

* * *

 

“Rise and shine, lovers,” Jack drawls. Ashton is slow to comprehend, rolling onto his back and. letting go of the warm being next to him. His eyes open, blinking up at the ceiling blankly.

 _Shit._ Ashton sits up with a jolt, realizing that they’re still in bed together. Luke makes little sleepy noises as he shifts and wakes up.

“Not lovers,” Ashton manages to mumble with his sleep-thick tongue.

“Whatever. Mum’s making pancakes and you don’t want to miss that. Get your asses downstairs. C’mon.” Jack leaves as quickly as he came, and Ashton sighs and gets out of bed.

“’M sleepy,” Luke says groggily. He looks angelic in the morning, with his skin all pale and his blue eyes just peeking open. He gets that hazy look over his face, Ashton knows.

“Gotta get breakfast,” Ashton says, pulling on his shorts and t-shirt. “Pancakes. Your brothers will eat them all.”

“Don’t wanna walk,” Luke complains, rolling on his side and blinking up at Ashton. “Ash.”

“You have to. Don’t wanna miss out on pancakes, do you?”

“Please,” Luke whines. “I’ll do something for you later.”

Ashton rolls his eyes and backs up against the bed. “Okay, okay. Come on.”

Luke beams and climbs onto Ashton’s back. Ashton holds the underside of Luke’s thighs while Luke locks his arms around Ashton’s neck. They begin the long trek downstairs. The stairs themselves are quite a journey, as Ashton is afraid to trip or topple forward. When he reaches the bottom, it’s a huge relief.

“Nice of you boys to show up,” Liz says. “Better hurry, or your brothers will have finished them off.” She scoops one off the stove and onto the plate piled high with them. Ashton’s mouth waters, and he sets Luke down.

“How many can I have?” Ashton asks hesitantly, grabbing a plate.

“As many as you can take before the others get here,” she says magnanimously. “You’re family, and in this family pancakes are a free for all.”

Luke takes three pancakes and sits down at the table where Jack digs into five. Ben swerves into the kitchen and steals six, and Ashton takes three, figuring it’s okay if he eats the same number as Luke. He plops down next to him and waits patiently for the syrup to make its way around to him.

“Ashton, you eat so little,” Ben says, sinking his fork into the whole stack and sawing through it.

“Luke’s eating the same,” Ashton protests.

“But he’s little, too,” Ben justifies. “C’mon. You’re family now.”

“I’m fine,” Ashton says, feeling a rush of shyness akin to what he had felt last night. “This is all I need.”

As always, Liz’s pancakes are spectacular; she has perfected making them fluffy and sweet, and Ashton would eat them everyday if he could. He can’t, but it’s worth imagining. Luke grins at him periodically with his cheeks bulging. Ashton thinks it’s cute, like a chipmunk.

By the time everyone is done with pancakes and has recovered from the common stomach ache that results from being unable to restrain themselves, it’s about time to go down into the town. Ashton receives the most important task of keeping Luke by his side, seeing as the crowds will be teeming during this time of the day and Luke is the perfect size to get lost.

The first store is an old-time candy store, one of the many food vending places in the area. Luke gets excited over the giant gumballs, but Ashton shows him the pink taffies and the cool machine that stretches them, and he hedges, biting at his lip. Eventually, he leaves the store with a big gumball and a few wrapped taffy squares. Andy, Jack and Ben have gotten massive bags of chocolate, much to Liz’s chagrin.

Jack gets himself a t-shirt that has the beach’s name across the front, cotton candy and a utility knife with his name on it. Ben gets a touristy mug and a pretty watch from a nearby antique store. Luke and Ashton, conversely, keep their money safe in their pockets.

Ashton finally knows what he wants when one of the shops they visit sells hair barrettes with flowers sculpted from abalone. They’re white with iridescent light if you angle it right, a shiny ethereal quality that Ashton falls in love with.

“Pretty,” Luke says, ghosting his fingers over it, which is what triggers Ashton’s thoughts.

While Luke wanders off to the back of the store to look at t-shirts with Ben, Ashton snatches the prettiest one and puts it on the counter, quickly slapping down a bill. The transaction is just over when Luke comes back.

Ashton pulls the clip from the cardboard backing as he spins around and clips it into Luke’s hair. Luke’s face scrunched up in confusion as he reaches up and pets it. “What is it?”

“Go look in the mirror,” Ashton says, swallowing hard. He’s afraid Luke won’t like it. Ridiculously nervous.

Luke goes to the mirror by the t-shirts, touching the clip in awe. His face lights up and he leans close, staring at it. “It’s _pretty_.”

Ashton exhales in relief and Luke runs up to his mum, practically bouncing up and down. “Look, Mum. Look what Ashton got me.”

Liz glances down at the clip with the same special, encouraging smile she always saves for her feminine youngest. “Looks great, kid.”

But then she looks up at Ashton with that same smile, and her eyes seem to bore right into his soul, and Ashton thinks for a wild minute that she _knows_. What if she stops inviting him on family trips, or stops thinking of him fondly? What if he’s not good enough for Luke?

“Why don’t we visit a few more stores and head home,” she suggests. “Did you tell Ashton thank you?”

The question is enough to ease Ashton’s panic.

Luke rushes up to Ashton and throws his arms around his waist, burrowing his head in his chest. Ashton nearly loses his footing with the force of his hug, hugging him back weakly. Luke’s head comes up under his chin. “Thanks, Ash,” Luke says earnestly. “Thank you lots.”

“It’s cool,” Ashton says, suppressing a wave of affection and patting his back. Jack whistles suggestively from somewhere across the store, and Ashton resents Liz’s presence for preventing him from flipping Jack off.

Luke glows after that, putting a skip in his step and dragging Ashton around. Ashton doesn’t mind at all. Luke could drag him to the grave, and as long as they ended up in a grave together, Ashton would die with a smile on his face.

Andy picks up some food to bring home at the marketplace, including s’mores ingredients. The final shop is a jewelry store, and Liz asks to stop inside for a few minutes to see if there’s anything worthwhile. Most of the jewelry so far has been cute, whimsical things of carved wood and sterling silver. The locals make most of the jewelry, theming it for the beach. Luke opts to go inside with her, while the rest of them mill about outside. Ashton watches idly through the windows as Liz picks out a pair of earrings, and Luke grabs something too, shielding it from view with his body. Ashton turns away and instead listens in to the conversation around him, and doesn’t think about it after that.

 

* * *

 

The fire crackles and blazes before Ashton, swallowing his marshmallow and spitting it back out golden and melted. Ben and Andy showed him how to toast them perfectly so they’re crisp on the outside and gooey on the inside. Ashton doesn’t want s’mores tonight, so he gives his marshmallows instead to Luke, who constantly sets his own on fire.

Luke munches for a while, then settles with a sigh, leaning into Ashton with a warmth that rivals the flames reflecting in his pale eyes. Luke’s face lights with a hot glow, shadowing the space around his eyes and highlighting his jaw. He looks older and vulnerable in the odd, flickering light, almost tired, and Ashton wonders if he himself looks much the same. They’ve sunken into quietness and stare into the fire together.

“I’m going back inside,” Jack announces. Liz and Ben are already gone, being early sleepers and early risers. Jack disappears back up to the beach house.

“I should head back too,” Andy says. “I’m going to start bringing things in. You two staying out here for a bit?”

Ashton opens his mouth to say they’ll come too, but Luke preempts him with, “Yeah, just for a bit.” And Ashton would sit out here all night with Luke.

“If you boys aren’t inside in half an hour, I’m going to come get you. Stay safe, keep your clothes away from the fire.”

They both nod their assent, and Andy grabs the cooler with the chocolate and graham crackers and the marshmallows and skewers. Luke sits up straight and Ashton keenly feels the distance. Within a minute, they remain alone on the beach, inches apart. The silence makes them feel farther. It’s not the comfortable silences they’re used to, it’s full of tension and I wants and I wishes.

Neither of them say a word for a long time.

“What did you get today?” Ashton asks, breaking the silence when it mounts on unbearable. “At the jewelry store. I saw—”

He cuts off, wondering if Luke kept it a secret for a reason.

“Yeah,” Luke says, then digs into his pocket. His gaze drops and he pulls out a bundle of silver in his fist, clenched tight in his hand. The silver catches the firelight and glints back at them. Slowly, he opens his hand and shows Ashton the two chains, attached to a single heart with the words _I love you_ and an anchor down the middle, both divided by a seam. Ashton is mildly confused until Luke pulls the heart apart, leaving two necklaces in his hands. “I thought maybe—for us—I wasn’t sure,” he confesses softly, turning away from Ashton. His shoulders slump, leaving him as small and young as he ever seemed to Ashton. “I didn’t know if you’d want to, or what your mum would say.”

Ashton takes one of the necklaces in his hand, looking at it and internally weighing his choices. But the impossible thing is that he had no choice at all. He is tied to Luke, with or without a piece of jewelry to prove it.

The shyness on Luke’s face says he doesn’t know it yet.

Ashton unclasps it and puts it around his neck, the pendant falling against his chest. Luke watches anxiously, biting his lip. “There,” Ashton says quietly. He takes the other necklace and reaches over Luke’s shoulders to put it on. Luke stays silent as he does it.

“You’re my anchor,” Luke whispers, touching the half anchor on Ashton’s pendant. “I can be yours too, if you want.”

“I’d like that,” Ashton says, wrapping an arm around Luke’s shoulders. “Now we’ll never be apart.”

 

* * *

 

The days pass in a blur, too fast for Ashton’s liking. He can hardly keep track of the time. Luke wears the clip every day despite owning others, and Ashton finds himself touching his necklace often, as if to remind himself it’s still there. Luke likes to connect the heart at night, likes the _snick_ of the magnet. Ashton likes seeing the heart together, because it means _they’re_ together, and Ashton would do anything to keep Luke by his side.

Ashton spends the nights after Luke falls asleep worrying that when they go home, everything will shatter. The perfect world they built in a week, crumbling under the pressure of real life. It makes his whole body ache.

Today is the last day, and the pain of knowing they will be gone in the morning intensifies.

The sun is starting to go down, lighting the horizon with reds and oranges. Ashton is sitting in the sand alone, sifting it through his fingers. He’s desperate to keep this beach inside him forever, breathing in sunsets and absorbing the salty winds.

“Whatcha doing?” Luke asks, appearing out of nowhere and dropping next to him. Ashton exhales in surprise and let's the handful of sand drain out.

“Just thinking,” he says.

“’Bout what?”

Ashton sighs. “Going home.”

“Is everything alright?” Luke inquires keenly.

Ashton looks down at his fingers, dirty and rough from playing with the sand. “Yeah.”

“You sure?” Luke scoots closer, scooping Ashton’s dusty hand into his own. “Everything okay?”

Ashton shrugs. “Guess so.”

Luke leans forward and pecks his cheek. “I had fun this week. I’m glad you came.”

Ashton smiles, but he knows his eyes drag it down. “I’m glad I came, too. Just wish it wasn’t over so soon. By tomorrow, the beach will have forgotten us.”

Luke doesn’t respond immediately. He lets go of Ashton’s hand and traces circles in the sand. Then, he says, “We’ll still remember.”

“I’m afraid I’ll forget.” Ashton shuts his eyes; they feel like sandpaper, wind blasted.

Luke takes his hand again and tugs. Ashton opens his eyes and stands pliantly. Luke smiles gently and uses the tip of his foot to trace a giant half-heart. Ashton’s brow furrows. Hesitantly, he does the same to complete the heart. Luke starts carving inside, _A-S-H-T-O-N_ and then, underneath, his own name. Ashton steps out of the circle and watches as he finishes it with a flourish.

“Why?” Ashton breathes.

“So you won’t forget,” Luke says simply.

Ashton pulls Luke close and tries to make the most of their last hours.

When they go to bed that night, Ashton lies awake with his stomach in knots and his hands curled tightly around Luke’s shoulders. His chin rests atop Luke’s fair hair.

In the morning, everything will end.

He has grown accustomed to falling asleep and waking up next to Luke. So far away, he wanted to believe that this was a reality he could live out. But it was only a temporary escape, a reprieve from the tension of his real home. He wants to run to the ocean’s edge and bury himself beneath the foam, build himself a sand castle big enough to live in.

He will come back to the screaming and the throwing, the storm that fills his ears and rattles in his head. He’ll be back to hiding his love and himself, he will be a shred of his tired heart.

Outside, the ocean shrieks and batters the shore, and his eyes fill with salt water.

 

* * *

 

When the sun rises, his arms are already empty.

Luke is quietly pulling clothes from the closet and dresser and folding them into suitcases. Ashton realizes as his eyes clear that Luke is not packing his own suitcase, but Ashton’s. At his surprised noise, Luke looks up and smiles. “Thought you would be tired, so I packed for you.”

Ashton rubs his eyes and tries to wake up enough to get his legs or his mouth to work. In a few minutes, they’ve cleared out the clothes and their belongings, and when the bed is made, they stand by the door together and silently look over the room.

The room looks achingly hollow without their things, with the bed immaculate. It’s cold and impersonal, unlived in. It’s just a graveyard for their dreams, and Ashton doesn’t want to leave them behind.

“Time to go,” Luke says sadly.

The family loads their suitcases into the trunk of the car, preparing to leave. Luke and Ashton are impressively silent as they get ready to go. They know that when they get home, the fairy tale ends; when the beach disappears, they have to come back to real life. A week felt like a year, but the private fantasy is only that.

Ashton feels it the hardest.

After hours of being on the road, he remembers who he is coming back to, and the necklace seems to burn against his chest, the cold metal branding him. He reaches up to unclasp the necklace. He feels Luke’s tired eyes on him, and begs God to let Luke forgive him. If his mum sees, there can never be a together at all.

He is slow to leave the car when it pulls into the driveway of Luke’s house. Luke hovers nearby as Ashton starts down the driveway.

Luke is running suddenly, throwing his arms around Ashton. Ashton squeezes back fiercely. “Don’t you dare forget,” Luke whispers. There are so many things Ashton wants to keep perfect in his memory, preserved as the magic it was. But most of all, he doesn’t want to ever forget the way it felt to be able to hold Luke without being afraid.

“I’ll come over tomorrow,” Ashton promises. “I gotta go home.”

Luke nods reluctantly and lets him go, watching Ashton trudge to his own house. Ashton hates the sudden vulnerability he feels wash over him. He is afraid to see what might have changed in his house in a week, what could be possible if he felt himself change.

He lets himself into the house, and is greeted by silence.

It’s odd, because it’s a Sunday and everyone should be home. His siblings should be awake and running around, eating breakfast, watching flicks. His mum and Warwick should be arguing or talking or hanging around the main areas. But it’s as dead as a ghost town.

Ashton wanders to the back of his house after dropping his things by the door. He heads straight for his room. Harry should be there.

Harry’s little rocket ship bed, the same bedding Ashton had slept in when he was younger, is unmade and empty. Ashton feels the knot in his stomach grow bigger.

Lauren’s room is vacant too, her dolls scattered on the floor with her books. Ashton stands dumbly in the doorway, unable to comprehend the sight. It feels wrong. Nobody goes anywhere on Sundays. Sundays are family days, and his mum promised they would be there when he came back.

His parents’ door is shut. Ashton’s nerves are beginning to fray ragged when he approaches the door and knocks.

“Come in,” Warwick calls. Ashton opens the door as told.

His mind scrambles. Warwick bends over the bed, shoving clothes into a suitcase. His mother is nowhere to be seen, and her side of the bed is made up.

“Warwick,” Ashton starts. “I’m back.”

Warwick smiles, but it seems weak when Ashton sees the lines of his face. “I see that. You have fun?”

Ashton nods stupidly, his mouth dry. “What’s going on?”

Warwick’s smile falters and fades. Ashton feels it in his gut, the fear. “It’s alright.”

“Sunday is family day,” Ashton recites. “What’s going on?”

Warwick stops and runs at his face, sighing. Ashton perceives him as the aging man he is, the graying hair and sagging features. Exacerbated, perhaps, by the turmoil within the walls of the house.

“Your mum took your siblings to church,” he says, and Ashton hears it like a punch to his stomach. His mother doesn’t go to church. She never has. “She wants to renew her faith.”

“Why?” Ashton says, his lower lip quivering. His heart clenches and hammers against his ribs like it’s trying to burst out of its collagen cage. His body wants to reject what Warwick said, push it out of his head and back into his mouth. He knows what church will mean for him in the future; he has an awful, devastating feeling that he knows why she wanted to find God again. What she’s trying to prevent in her house.

“I’m going away for a while,” Warwick says. “On a trip.”

Ashton can almost see the way his world warps and threatens to break. “When will you be back? Why are you leaving?”

“It’ll be a couple of weeks,” Warwick says. He exhales heavily, as if he holds the whole fragile house on his shoulders. “Your mum and I need a break.”

“No,” Ashton says, with such force it burns his throat. “You can’t. Lauren and Harry need you. _I need you_. You can’t leave. You can’t let me down.”

He’s viciously aware of the dampness on his face. Warwick looks helpless as Ashton keeps spitting words out.

“You can’t leave,” Ashton says, his body sinking. “Please. Who will be my dad?”

Warwick reaches out and hugs Ashton close to his chest, stroking at his hair. Ashton wants to refuse his touch, pleads with himself to stiffen all his muscles and push him away, punish him for doing this, but his body cannot find the strength to do any of that. Instead, he lets Warwick hold him.

“Just a few weeks,” Warwick says softly. “Things will be better after. I promise. You’re going to be okay.”

Ashton hates him for leaving, because he has realized too late that Warwick was too good to deserve the title of stepdad. Warwick was his father, and Ashton is deathly afraid that maybe Warwick won’t ever come back.

 

* * *

 

_July 2007_

Warwick does come back, a few weeks after leaving, but it can’t erase the constant fear Ashton faces that he could come home and be without a father again. He had never known his birth father, and he had stuck by the belief that he didn’t need one until he was without one again.

The fighting doesn’t get better, and Luke and Michael never ask him about it.

For the first time since Ashton was a baby, the family goes to church on Sunday mornings. His father stays home, and Ashton faces the cold, frightening pews of the local church with apprehension each week.

The months pass at a snail pace, dragging so slowly Ashton sometimes doubts July will ever come. Michael does his best to keep Ashton in good spirits; he does the only thing he knows how to do, which is invite him over to game endlessly and tell awful sexual jokes.

Ashton can hardly look at Luke most of the time.

Luke seems to understand, but Ashton cannot bear it. Each day brings overwhelmingly increasing pain when he sees him. Ashton loves him more than he can bear, and with his mother’s renewed vigor for the heteronormative, he buries it deeper inside himself, even knowing that it gets stronger and sharper every day. It leaves his insides feeling shredded and ruined.

For the first time in his whole life, his birthday and Luke’s feels thoroughly disappointing. Michael tries exceptionally hard to get them excited, but they’re feeling rundown and dragged. Ashton touches his necklace obsessively, reminding himself of his tiny blond anchor and the undying want for him.

It’s a week after Luke’s birthday, and they’re in the fields, unusually quiet. Ashton had called his house and begged, pleaded, for his attention. Luke had known right away that Ashton was falling apart again.

“What’s wrong?” Luke asks, hushed even though there’s nobody around to hear.

Ashton wraps his arms around himself and tries to speak without sounding like someone is squeezing his throat. “I need to talk to you,” he says. His jaw is sore from trying to grit his teeth against his emotions. “I know things have been rough lately.”

Luke nods. He’s habitually lacing daisies together. “I know.”

“My parents are fighting,” Ashton says, admitting it out loud for the first time. “Dad left for a while and Mum goes to church now.”

Luke’s brow furrows in concern, but he lets Ashton go on.

“I’ve been avoiding you and Michael,” he says ashamedly. “I was afraid I wouldn’t be enough if I was hurting.”

Luke lets out a pained sound. “What’s wrong, Ash?”

Ashton whimpers, constricted. Luke quickly reaches out with his sleeve to wipe away a tear. “I’ve just been thinking,” he gasps out. “Been coming to terms, and I’m scared and I think I’m gay and I don’t know. I don’t know how to know if I am, or not, and I don’t know what to do because I’m afraid my mum will stop loving me. I don’t know what I am. I don’t know if anyone will ever love me.”

Luke leans forward and knocks Ashton backwards as he presses his lips against Ashton’s. Ashton tastes a split second of strawberry chapstick and feels the slick heat of Luke’s soft lips on his own. Ashton goes completely slack, head pounding worse than before.

Luke leans back and watches with sad eyes as Ashton’s breath jerks back to life. For a long time, neither of them say a word, and Ashton’s mouth is open in shock, dark and bright. His eyes are glassy. “Do you know now?” he asks quietly.

Ashton nods, slowly at first, and then more certainly, but something inside snaps and he’s weeping, covering his face with his hands and crying with big, messy sobs. His shoulders shake and heave as Luke instinctively wraps his arms around Ashton and kisses his hair. Ashton melts against him, trembling.

Luke murmurs soft things and strokes his back, but they both know that Ashton’s whole existence is shattering, and everything he has ever feared is fulfilling itself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm in love with this chapter? it's 30 pages in google docs? help?  
> title is from the young and beyond reckless by slaves ft. tyler carter, song fits perfectly for this chapter so go listen yo (also they're an amazing band, lyricism and vocals are off the charts)  
> many thanks to naomi for putting up with videos of my little cousins, their parakeet jimmy, and my needy whining all week while simultaneously giving me ideas for the whole beach rendezvous  
> dat's it, pls boost my narcissism and tell me what you thought of this chapter and i'm sorry it's so sad but i love u all bc u guys are so lovely and everything :) i lub u.  
> bye xx


	6. if i ever catch the ones who hurt you i'm hoping that god looks away

_December 2007_

Michael tells his parents he’s bi at Christmas dinner.

Luke actually goes to the trouble of trying to dissuade him the day before, because he thinks there are more delicate times to bring that out, and Ashton agrees, although he doesn’t say so; Luke has a valid point in saying that shouting out “I’m a bisexual!” in the middle of cutting the turkey might be a little bit of a shock. After all, Michael’s elderly relatives will also be in attendance, and nobody wants them to drop dead of a heart attack. Nevertheless, Michael goes forward with the plan.

He shows up at Luke’s the day after; Ashton’s there too, lounging on the couch and playing video games with Ben. Ben is beating his ass, but mostly because Luke is sitting on his lap, back to Ashton’s chest, and keeps moving his head to block Ashton’s view. At least, that’s the reason Ashton cites.

“I am officially decloseted,” Michael announces, sitting down next to Ashton and stealing away the controller. “Man, you suck, let me help.”

“Luke is _sitting on me_ ,” Ashton says, sounding far less offended than he wants to. Luke reaches back and grabs onto Ashton’s now-free hands.

“Decloseted?” Ben says, looking away long enough for Michael to slam his car into the boundary. He looks back and curses.

“Yeah, I told my family yesterday during dinner that I was bi.”

“I told you not to,” Luke says with a sigh.

“Get off your high horse, they’re cool with it.”

“Really?” Ashton says, eyes raking him up and down. He feels a strange heaviness in his chest. “What did they say?”

“My dad said he thought I was just gay. My mum just told me it didn’t matter and that it didn’t change anything. None of my grandparents died, either. Luke.”

“It was _hypothetical_.”

“But, yeah.” As casual as Michael is trying to be, Ashton does not— _cannot_ —miss the proud glow of his smile, the way he tries to suppress it. Michael had to have been nervous, as confident as he is, as comfortable with himself as he is. Ashton would be terrified. It must be a big deal for Michael.

“Congratulations,” Ashton says with a smile. Luke’s hands tighten around his. Luke knows, then.

“Thanks,” Michael says happily. “Guess I can just get on with it then, find someone to date.”

“Guess you can.” Ashton swallows hard and bites the inside of his cheek. Luke squirms until he’s sitting sideways and then, arms wrapped around Ashton’s neck, leans against him heavily and puts his head on his shoulder. Ashton finds it oddly comforting, although it should just be inconvenient.

“Awesome, dude,” Ben says distractedly. “Which one of you is next?” Luke throws a pillow at him, mostly to shut him up, but it knocks the controller out of his hand and Michael slams him again. “Fuck! Luke!”

“Sorry,” Luke says, but totally doesn’t look sorry. Ashton wraps his arms around Luke’s waist and holds onto him, just in case Ben decides to attack.

They haven’t talked about it since that day in the fields, but Luke remembers, and they both know that Ashton would die for his family to be so easily accepting.

 

* * *

 

_January 2008_

“Do you like this backpack?” Luke asks, pulling at a flowery-looking Jansport bag. Ashton thinks it looks incredibly young.

“Someone will shove you in a locker if you wear that,” Ashton says immediately. “I bet we can find a backpack with flowers that looks cooler.” Michael shoots Ashton a look that says _anything he wears is going to get him shoved into a locker._

Luke shrugs and releases it; they move on. His eyebrows are furrowed, his face in constant distress. Ashton doesn’t know what it is, but he definitely doesn’t like it. “This one,” Luke suggests. Kittens. Oh, god, no. Michael tells him so flat out. Luke makes a face. “You guys are being hard about this.”

“We don’t want you to get beat up,” Ashton says firmly. “We can at least find you a classy floral.”

“Fine, fine,” Luke agrees, but the creases in his forehead don’t disappear. Ashton wants to frown too. He hates that look.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, clasping his hands nervously. “Lukey?”

“Nothing,” Luke says, but his face relaxes a bit at the nickname. “It’s alright. Let’s just find me a backpack and go.”

“Are you okay?” Ashton says, still not convinced.

“I’m just _nervous_ ,” Luke says, pouting at the ground. It’s not like him to be nervous; Luke has never worried about what other people think. But Ashton knows at the same time it’s not true, that more and more as they grow older, he’s starting to take in what people say. There was a time when Luke lived in a bubble, and Ashton will have to be his shield.

“It’s gonna be okay,” Ashton promises. He grabs Luke’s hand after a furtive glance around to make sure nobody’s watching. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“No, I know, just,” Luke sighs, looking around. “It’s a big deal, Ben and Jack keep saying stuff like, that Year 7’s get shoved into trashcans and dunked in toilets and it makes me nervous.”

“It’s not that big of a deal. Promise,” Ashton says. “I promise. I won’t let anyone dunk you in a toilet. Everyone has the same lunch periods at Richmond, we won’t let you out of our sight.”

Luke bites his lip, and nods. But he still doesn’t seem to be in a better mood, so Ashton does the only thing he can think of and kisses his cheek. It’s sloppy, they know it—too close to the mouth. A centimeter closer and he would’ve caught the corner of his mouth instead. As always, they both pretend it doesn’t matter, so the fragile pretense isn’t broken.

“Better?”

Luke nods warily. His grip on Ashton’s hand tightens, and Ashton swallows hard, knowing that he’s walking a thin line.

 

* * *

 

On Luke’s first day of secondary, Ben, Jack, Ashton and Michael all shoulder him all the way to school. Ashton and Michael are both worried about how Luke will integrate; after all, as they’ve gotten older, kids have only gotten less understanding.  They’re doing everything they can to keep him under their wings. They’ll walk him to every class, make sure he never leaves their sight.

Luke is brave, Ashton has always known; much braver than himself. Luke will find a way to protect himself no matter what, but he can tell Luke is scared. Luke is small even by Year 7 standards, and Richmond High is full of towering kids who scare even Ashton. Michael has expressed multiple times that he’s sure Luke is going to be crushed, due mostly to the fact that Luke doesn’t quite blend in. Hair clips and flower crowns and pink flowery backpacks are justification enough for someone to lock him in a janitor’s closet, Michael is pretty sure.

“Remember when I started here?” Michael had reminded Ashton. “I made fun of you for weeks and I’m still nobody.”

Ashton tells Michael that he’s just working Luke up and definitely not helping.

Nevertheless, Luke does okay on his first day. They meet up for lunch; Michael goes to pick Luke up from his class and guide him to the table, despite having told him explicitly where it was before school. Michael is convinced Luke needs to be babied through everything. He drops him off next to Ashton and rushes off to get hot lunch.

“How did it go?” Ashton asks, scooting closer. Luke pulls out his lunch bag; there’s a little note inside from his mother. He smiles at it, and Ashton cranes his neck to read it. _Love you Lukey, have fun today xx._

“It was alright,” Luke says. Ashton is relieved to see that he doesn’t look so worried. “I really liked my art teacher.”

“It’s too bad we’re not in any classes together,” Ashton says. “We could have had fun.”

“I have P.E. with Michael, at least. His period, I mean. Different teacher.”

“Good,” Ashton agrees. Michael reappears and plops down next to him.

“Man, have you seen the new girl?” Michael says right away, elbowing Ashton. “She’s _hot_.”

“Who?” Ashton asks, not really interested.

“Alexa. Brown hair, tan skin? She just moved here from Brazil. Holy shit. And she has _boobs_.”

“Michael, I literally don’t care,” Ashton sighs. “I told you. The footy boys. I would actually—uh, you know. Go gay for them.” He coughs uncomfortable, ignoring Luke’s wayward glance.

“How awfully straight of you,” Michael mutters. “I mean, think about it, though. Like, boys are cute. But girls have boobs.”

“Still don’t care.”

“Ashton, have you considered entering a nunnery? I heard they’re perfect for prudes like you.”

Ashton has a distinct feeling nunneries wouldn’t feel too kindly about taking in a homosexual boy.

“Ask her out, then,” Luke says indifferently. “Stop picking on Ashton and get on with it.”

“Rude,” Michael sniffs. “You guys always take each other’s sides.”

“Of course we do,” Luke laughs. Ashton is so happy to see him like this, at ease in the midst of all this novelty. He told Michael Luke would be fine. Ashton can only hope that the rest of secondary school goes this smoothly.

Ashton is never so lucky.

 

* * *

 

It literally takes only days for it to start. And, granted, it starts small.

It must only be words at first, Ashton figures, because Luke starts clinging closer and closer on the way to school and asks Ashton stupid questions about the way he dresses, about the way he acts. Ashton doesn’t like it, but he’s not surprised. He saw this coming, and there’s nothing he can do about it.

Michael offers repeatedly to punch anyone Luke asks him to, but Luke always turns him down with sweet smile.

Ashton gets himself detention again when Luke shows up in the morning one day with the side of his face bruised. He can’t take it, because Luke won’t look either of them in the eye and won’t admit that one of the Year 9 boys—Ashton finds out later that he knows the kid, too—slammed the side of his face into the doorframe when Luke was leaving the locker room the day before. Michael hadn’t seen, or Ashton’s sure he would have tried his darndest to get himself expelled. Luke had told Jack and Ben that he had run into a wall to avoid them getting involved.

Ashton sure as hell gets himself involved.

It helps that there are four of them willing to beat people up left right and center. Jack’s definitely the punchiest, Ashton the least, but none of them will stand for bullshit, despite Luke’s pleas to leave it alone.

Ashton notices in February that Luke and Jack aren’t talking, made obvious by the fact that Liz has told them to set the dinner table and they both brought plates out and are glaring at each other across the table.

“Luke liked this kid,” Ben says from behind Ashton. “Jack beat him up for talking shit.”

“Liked?” Ashton says, his mouth going dry.

“Thought he was cute,” Ben clarifies. “A bit, I guess. Jack told him that the kid would never have wanted to date him anyway and Luke got mad. He didn’t tell Luke everything the kid said, though. Luke doesn’t need to know that.”

Ashton doesn’t foresee things getting much brighter.

It’s not all bad, all the time; Luke resolutely refuses to tone down how he dresses (outside of school, of course—the uniforms usually take care of it in school) and acts. If anyone could put up with shit at school and still come home smiling, it’s Luke. It only rattles him, doesn’t break him. Ashton wonders how long it’ll take before it does. Liz even approaches Luke and asks him straight-out if he wants to make any changes to his wardrobe during the second term, but Luke won’t do it. Ashton is glad; he never talks about it, but he likes seeing Luke in pretty things.

In April, over the break, they’re lying on Michael’s bed, all three of them, and talking, when Luke speaks up.

“I’ve been thinking,” he says calmly, steadily. There’s no trace of suggestion to help Ashton decipher how he’s feeling.

“About what?” Michael says boredly.

“School.” Luke sits up and looks at the boys lying spread eagle on either side of him. His eyes are serious, which Ashton construes as a bad thing. “I’ve been thinking that maybe I should try dressing differently.”

Now Ashton sits up, frowning. “Why would you want to do that?” He’s worried, although he tries not to look so. He had been cheering for Luke, hoping he would stick to his guns. Luke dressing differently is something that has never crossed his mind; he’s only ever known him like this. “You look fine.”

“I don’t know,” Luke says uneasily. “I just thought—I don’t know, maybe that if I dressed differently, better, that people would be nicer.”

Michael joins them and scowls, crossing his arms over his chest. Ashton can tell by the fire in his eyes that Luke’s idea is not going to go over well. He tries to signal Michael to take it down, but Michael won’t be stopped. “That’s ridiculous. That’s bullshit, Luke. You can’t let people tell you who to be. You’re not meant to dress in clothes like we do. That’s not you.”

Ashton says sharply, “Luke can dress however he wants,” and Michael falls silent as Luke tries to explain it.

“I just, just want to try it,” he stutters. “Maybe I’ll like it.”

“Luke, are you sure?” Ashton says worriedly.

“I just want to try it,” Luke repeats quietly, looking down at his hands and flushing. A knot forms in Ashton’s stomach.

“We can try it,” he says, trying to sound enthusiastic. Encouraging, even, although in truth, his whole body is trying to reject the concept, from his clenching hands to his curling toes. “Go to the store tomorrow, try things on. Yeah?”

Luke nods, looking relieved—and grateful. Michael looks at Ashton in a way that obviously means _what the hell do you mean we can try it?_ , but Ashton shuts him out. It’s clear neither of them want to see Luke dress like they do, but Ashton knows that Luke is 12, and even if this is just to avoid being bullied, they can’t shut him down.

The next day, the three of them head to the mall and wander around. Ashton’s looking for a boy’s store, something that’ll satisfy what Luke wants. There are plenty that’ll do, but Michael vetoes them all until he finds one that carries clothes for both binary genders.

They scatter inside, picking out various extra-extra-small jackets and jeans and t-shirts, even some sneakers. It’s stuff that Michael mostly wears, and the other boys in their grade; Ashton isn’t quite the pinnacle of masculinity, although he’s a hell of a lot closer than Luke at this point. Then they reconverge in front of the dressing rooms, each carrying a bundle of potential clothes, and slip into separate dressing rooms, all next to each other. There are only a few fitting room attendants, but they all disperse to tend to the rest of the store, and when they’re gone, Ashton throws his clothes over the top of the boundary and crawls under to join Luke, who’s starting to undress and try things on.

Luke looks good, Ashton will admit, in skinny jeans and a varsity jacket. Luke looks good in _anything_. Luke would look good in a quilt. But it doesn’t look right.

“What do you think?” Luke says uncertainly. He stretches his arms out to his sides and drops them again, staring at himself in the mirror.

“Looks good,” Ashton says, against his will.

“Hold up, I’m coming,” Michael says, tossing his set of clothes over (they land on Ashton’s head) and slides under the boundary before standing and dusting himself off.

“What do you think?” Luke asks again, facing Michael. Michael shrugs, unwilling to give his opinion. Ashton silently curses Michael out. Luke sighs and tugs at the fabric of the jacket. “I’ll try something else.”

They wait patiently as he tries something else on, then something else, and again. Luke cycles through all the clothes and tells Ashton that he needs to start giving varying answers and Michael needs to start giving verbal answers, because otherwise the experiment doesn’t really work. Finally, when they run out of outfits, Ashton says, “Luke?”

“Hmm?”

“I think you look good in all of these things.” Ashton stands up from where he’s been sitting on the ground and comes to stand behind Luke. “But I don’t think you like them.”

“I would probably get used to it,” Luke says, but Ashton recognizes the look in his eyes that has remained this whole time as Luke feeling wrong in his skin.

“Maybe,” Ashton says, brushing a strand of hair out of Luke’s eyes where it’s fallen forward with the tilt of his head. “Or maybe not. Tell me, honestly, if you liked wearing those clothes. If you felt better, or cooler. Look me in the eyes and tell me that you were completely comfortable.”

Luke bites his lip and his head sinks even further down. It’s answer enough for Ashton. He doesn’t feel relieved as he thought he would, because the air in the fitting room is heavy. They cannot be happy if Luke is disappointed.

Luke knows—they all know, then—that he will never fit in the way he wants to. They had all known inside that dressing differently wouldn’t mask Luke’s nature, wouldn’t fix things. It had been moot from the start. Michael had tried to tell them as much.

“Guess that’s it then,” Luke mumbles, reaching to strip things off. “Sorry to drag you along for such a useless, _pointless_ trip.” He kicks a jacket to the side.

“Wait,” Michael says, digging around in the pile. “Luke, wait. There’s one more thing.”

“It’s not going to change anything, Michael, it’s obvious—”

Michael throws a skirt at Luke. It hits him in the chest, and he catches it before it drops to the skirt. It’s just a pleated light blue skirt, and Luke looks at it in confusion. “Just try it on,” Michael says, looking away. “It’s an experiment, right?” He cracks a smile, and Luke’s eyebrows knit together.

Luke grabs one of the plain white t-shirts from the pile and strips off the jeans, handing it to Ashton, who hangs it neatly on a hanger. He slips the skirt on over his slim hips and tucks in the t-shirt, standing barefoot and small in the harsh white light of the stall.

Ashton can’t stop looking; he couldn’t have prepared himself for the feeling of seeing Luke in a skirt. It feels like he’s been winded, like the time Lauren pushed him off his bed and he toppled off face-first, all the air knocked from his lungs. It feels like when one of the Year 8 boys kicked a football straight into his stomach and knocked him backwards. He can only imagine what it feels like for Luke.

Luke is so quiet as he looks at himself in the mirror, fingers running along the hem of the skirt. Ashton can’t discern whether he likes it or not, if it’s awe written in his features. His mouth parts as if in surprise, and his eyes grow glassy.

“Oh,” he whispers, and wraps his arms around his torso.

“You look so good,” Ashton says. He sounds choked.

“You think so?” Luke says finally, sounding equally choked. Michael nods in confirmation.

Ashton wants Luke to smile, ease the tension. He wants Luke to say, _This is pretty, I look pretty. Don’t you think I look pretty?_

Instead, Luke buries his face in his hands. Ashton doesn’t hesitate to put his arms around Luke’s waist, trying to reassure him that it’s alright. Michael does the same from the other side.

Maybe once, when Luke was a child, he would have twirled in the skirt, blushed and danced around in it. He would have smiled and shown it off to everyone. But everything is different now. They’re not children anymore. They can no longer pretend that it all means nothing, that they’ll grow out of their habits and they won’t love each other as much when reality sets in. There is nothing left to hide behind.

Everything is a whole lot more terrifying when you realize that you meant it all.

 

* * *

 

_S_ _eptember 2008_

Luke starts wearing skirts later in the year, after Michael gives him two (“Oh my god. Two? Are you sure?” “Shut the fuck up and just take them, Luke.”) for his birthday. Liz gives Michael a big hug behind Luke’s back. Luke makes sure to only wear them in places he’s sure nobody from school will see, and especially where Ashton’s mum won’t see, because if she saw, Ashton is sure he would never see Luke again. He’s started keeping the necklace in his backpack instead, only wearing it under his shirt outside of home.

Ashton can never quite function right when Luke is wearing a skirt.

Michael teases him endlessly for it, although Ashton still refuses to tell Michael that he’s _so fucking incredibly gone_ for Luke. Michael still sees the vacant look on Ashton’s face every time. He also unfortunately notices when Ashton smacks straight into a pole when they’re downtown.

Ashton almost thinks they’ll get through the year without a major hitch; compared to some past years, 2008 has been pretty mundane. But Ashton is wrong. Boy, is Ashton wrong.

Ashton knows when Michael walks up, pulling at red-eyed, sniffly Luke behind him, that something is _so, very_ wrong.

Luke almost never cries, first off, and he’s trying awfully hard to hide it. They’re about half an hour late, and that’s also odd. But there’s some black— _something_ smudged under his eyes, dark against his porcelain white skin, and that’s definitely not right. Ashton stands up before they get to the table, heading them off.

“What’s wrong?” he demands immediately, pushing Michael aside to get a good look at Luke. Luke shrinks back, sniffling and rubbing at his eyes. “Someone better tell me what the hell is going on.”

“Quit it, he’s shaken up,” Michael says, glaring. “Calm down.”

“It’s fine,” Luke says, on the verge of tears again. “Don’t—I’m fine.”

Ashton takes a breath and sweeps Luke into his arms. “Hey, hey. Don’t you cry again. C’mon, now, it’s okay.”

Luke hiccups and bursts into tears again.

“Why don’t you sit down for a sec,” Ashton says, and Luke nods, sitting on the bench and slumping over the table. Ashton moves far enough away that he can talk to Michael and Luke won’t hear.

“What the _hell_ happened?” Ashton hisses.

“It was in the locker room,” Michael says under his breath, shaking his head. “I don’t _know_. Someone saw him wearing a skirt, when we were out, I don’t know. They took his clothes when he was changing in the locker room, some dick got his girlfriend’s cheerleading outfit, her makeup—god, they already had him dressed up in it by the time I got out of the bathroom, and then they—they smeared it all over his lips and eyes, like, like clowns do. He looked so—they took pictures. He wouldn’t stop crying, he didn’t even want to come out here.”

Ashton is stunned into silence.

“He’s pretty rattled,” Michael says, glancing over at Luke, who’s still sitting with his head down, rubbing his eyes. “I couldn’t get all the makeup off his eyes, that—that stuff stays on forever. He wants it off, I need to find a way to get it off before he rubs his eyelids off.”

“I’m gonna—I’m gonna fucking kill them,” Ashton says blankly. He’s so angry that he feels almost calm. “Who was it?”

Michael sighs. “It was Trent, you know that Year 8 kid? It was his idea. Everyone else, they were, they were just playing along.” Ashton tries to push past him, ready to fight then and there, but Michael stops him and yanks him back. “Don’t you dare leave now. Luke needs you right now. I’ll take him home after school and pretend I have no idea what you’re gonna do. Alright?”

Ashton seethes, but he knows Michael is right. He sits down next to Luke and puts an arm around his shoulders, using his free hand to pull Luke’s fingers from his eyes. “You’re gonna make it worse,” he tuts, and grabs a napkin from Michael’s hot lunch and his water bottle. He uses the water to make it damp and wipes at the smudged makeup around Luke’s eyes. Luke shuts them automatically and lets him clean the tears and eyeliner away.

“I’m sorry,” Luke stammers. “I don’t—I didn’t mean to make trouble. I swear.”

“Luke, babe, this isn’t your fault,” Ashton says softly. “C’mon, it’s okay. Dry your eyes for me, there we go. It’s all off.”

Luke clenches his hands tight between his legs and tries to stop his body from shaking. Ashton is aching inside. How could they do that to poor, tiny Luke? Luke, who has never done anything to hurt anyone in his entire life. Luke will forgive anybody, but Ashton won’t. Not after what they did to him today. He knows this will stick with Luke for a long time.

For the rest of the day, Ashton can think of nothing else but smashing Trent’s face in.

When the last period bell rings, Ashton packs his things and sprints towards the Year 8 buildings, where one of the kids in his class said Trent would be. He has to get there in time. He has a job to do.

Ashton doesn’t remember much of the actual fight—he had prefaced it with “This is for Luke”—but he remembers being pulled off Trent and practically collapsing. Trent had put up a decent fight to defend himself, and while Ashton wasn’t going to leave before Trent had well and truly learned his lesson, Trent didn’t submit easily. A large crowd had gathered around to watch the boys pound each other, and by the time the deans had showed up, they were both a mess.

Ashton’s lip had been completely busted, and so was his nose. There was blood in his mouth from a punch to his cheek, which he had to keep spitting out on the way to the office. His entire body had hurt like hell when they pulled him into the nurse’s office and cleaned him up.

The dean had read him out the consequence—suspension, for a week. It could be worse, seeing as in a few days they’ll be out on holidays anyway, and the remaining days will just lengthen his vacation. His mum won’t be pleased, but that’s that.

He has to have someone pick him up, partially because he is in no shape to be walking home, but also because suspension means talking to parents. He prays when he calls home that his mother won’t pick up. One rings, two rings.

“Hello?”

 _Thank god._ “Dad,” Ashton says. “Uh, can you pick me up from school? I, um, got in a fight. I’m suspended and they want to talk to you.”

There’s a short silence on the other end, and Ashton bites his lip, waiting for the response. He’s never asked something like this. “I’ll be there.”

Ashton sighs in relief and puts down the phone, returning to one of the chairs by the wall to wait with his ice pack.

When his father gets there, his face is growing numb from the ice. He doesn’t dare smile at him, for fear he is angry. He goes to the front desk to talk to the secretary, who guides him to a conference room and gestures for Ashton to do the same.

“I’m sorry,” Ashton whispers preemptively, worried that he cannot read his expression. He does not respond as they sit down at the table.

The meeting is formal and unpleasant; Ashton purposely did not tell them why he fought, and so they’re placing all the blame on him. He resists the urge to tell them that if they looked at Trent’s phone, they would find everything they needed to find. _Fuck_. He should have smashed Trent’s phone while he was at it. Those pictures can never, _ever_ get out.

When the meeting ends, Ashton and his father walk out to the car in silence. It’s not until they’re on the road that Ashton ventures tremulously, “Are you mad?”

He sighs. “No, Ashton. I’m not mad. I wish you would stop fighting, but I’m not mad.”

“I had to,” Ashton says, glaring at his hands. “This time, I absolutely had to.”

“What have I told you? The only reason you have to fight is if you’re defending yourself. I have no doubt you had a good reason for it, but that does not make it acceptable.”

Ashton falls into silence, shamed. He _knows_ he shouldn’t have done it; he hates seeing real blood on his knuckles. His own or someone else’s, doesn’t matter. But he cannot stand seeing Luke so broken, either.

“They made him dress up as a cheerleader,” he spits out, the words bitter and acidic. “Put makeup all over him. Then they made him stand there while they took pictures. And laughed. They humiliated him. You should have seen what it did to him.”

His father pulls the car over to the side of the road, and Ashton sits straighter, surprised.

“People have always done terrible things to Luke,” he says, sharp and unforgiving. “And they always will. The way Luke dresses and acts is something that many people find difficult to accept. But you’re 14 now. You’re capable of dealing real damage. You’re not a boy anymore. You keep fighting like this, you’ll end up in jail. Do you ever wonder why Luke doesn’t want you to fight?”

Ashton can’t find it in himself to respond.

“Ashton, I need to talk to you man to man for a moment,” he says. “Look at me. I need you to take this as an adult, alright?”

“Okay.” Ashton clenches his hands around his knees, a knot of anxiety balling in his stomach. It’s the feeling you get as the roller coaster approaches the top of the hill, when you realize you want off and it’s far too late.

“You and I both know that I am not going to be around much longer,” he says, and god, Ashton _knows_. He feels it like a plague inside, a weakness in his bones; it’s how he felt when Trent lodged a fist in his stomach. He’s thought about it too much, every night with his eyes glued to the ceiling and his hand tangled in the sheets. “This isn’t going to last. You know that, right?”

“I know,” Ashton mumbles.

“You need to step up. No more fighting, no more getting into trouble at school, over Luke or anybody. Harry’s going to take a look at you and think that’s the solution. Luke makes the choice to be the way he is. He knows what consequences it brings, don’t you think he doesn’t. But you know why he doesn’t like seeing you fight? Because it is hard for the people you love to see you get hurt and to see you hurt other people. Do you understand?”

“I understand,” Ashton whispers, and looks through his eyelashes at his torn up sneakers. “I’m sorry.”

“Luke is going to be okay. _You_ are going to be okay. I promise you, if you keep your fists to yourself, you will be a better man.”

“They’ll hurt him again,” Ashton says, pleading one last time. “They’ll just get worse.”

“They’ll find a way to hurt him no matter what,” he says, and Ashton knows he’s right. “It won’t matter.”

 

* * *

 

_December 2008_

He leaves in December.

He doesn’t say goodbye, although Ashton supposes that if he thinks really hard about it, the night before he had taken extra time to kiss Ashton’s forehead and really tuck him in bed, in a way that he usually only did for Lauren and Harry. Ashton was always too old, and now it’s too late. He had probably known, and when Ashton rises in the morning to his mother with red-rimmed eyes in the kitchen and a longer hug than she usually bothers to give him, he knows too.

But he is shocked, fragmented and cold. He is afraid to return to his room and wake Harry up. Ashton had wondered what it felt like, thought about it endlessly. There was no way to prepare himself for the feeling of his chest threatening to collapse inwards, the burning in his eyes. His body is screaming, desperate to let it out, but he can’t, not in this house where his sounds could ricochet and hurt someone else.

His mother doesn’t watch as he leaves the house, or maybe she doesn’t care. It frightens him to see her in this shape, and he wills her to get it together before Harry and Lauren get up and realize. He is afraid of crying before he can step out the front door.

It’s the first time in his whole life that he goes to the daisy fields alone.

It is supposed to be a sacred place, shared between the three boys, a place for them to talk about things that cannot be heard by anyone else, to lie together and seek comfort in open arms. But he knows they will not mind him coming here today.

He sits by the barren stalks and puts his head in his hands and cries. His heart hurts. He thinks about Luke, and how his whole family loves each member so deeply; how they accept Luke’s femininities and make sure he never feels ostracized or unloved; how they are so perfect and whole, and Ashton is just a freak from a family that’s falling apart. He is ashamed to be part of his own family. Ashton has never deserved the kind of unconditional love Luke has always had.

Why couldn’t Warwick _stay?_

He is afraid of what is to come. His mother isn’t going to dry his eyes and tell him that being different is okay, that liking pretty things is okay, that liking pretty boys is okay. Ashton will never be able to be himself under that roof. Whatever limited freedom he had before is gone, too.

He thinks wildly of what he could have done to stop this. Didn’t he beg Warwick not to leave? Didn’t he try to be the best boy he could, persuade him that he was a good son? Wasn’t he a good enough reason?

Ashton fists at the daisy stalks and yanks them from their roots. Like his family, they have been completely destroyed, crushed under pressure.

 

* * *

 

“Ashton?” Luke pries softly Monday afternoon, brushing some hair from his eyes. It flops right back down. “You gonna eat your lunch?”

Ashton shakes his head tightly. Luke and Michael exchange bewildered glances, probably wondering about the way he’s been acting all day. “Ash, c’mon,” Michael wheedles. “Just a little bit of something. Lunch is almost over. You’re gonna be hungry later.”

“My stomach hurts,” Ashton excuses through gritted teeth. Luke moves closer and rests his head on his shoulder. He’s sure neither of them buy it, although it’s still true; they know each other too well for that.

“You can have my cookie,” he says, so sweetly that Ashton almost gives in. But the bell rings, anyway, and Luke gives him a quick kiss on the cheek instead. It’s enough to jolt him a little, but Luke takes off with his backpack and Michael and Ashton have to go to English.

Ashton’s mind is fragmented all through class. He keeps his eyes glued to his desk, tracing the pattern of the wood grain. The heaviness in his heart has not ceased. He’ll have to go home today and wait in his room and for the first time in years, he will not jump up at the sound of the front door open. Harry will not launch himself into his arms and Lauren will not tell him about her day. He won’t let Ashton drive the car into the garage whilst guiding his hands, he won’t give their mother a kiss and help set the table with the kids.

Ashton struggles to breathe at the thought.

His stomach clenches when he remembers that they’re supposed to get their Christmas tree soon. Who will be able to lift it onto the roof of the car? Who will get down the Christmas ornaments from way up high? Who will cook the ham for dinner? Who will bake and help decorate gingerbread cookies?

“Ash?” Michael whispers, turning around in his seat. A tear splashes onto the surface of Ashton’s desk, and he wipes his eyes and stubbornly keeps his head down. The class is silent.

“Ashton? Would you like to step outside?” the teacher says, and Ashton stands, pushing his chair back abruptly and walking around the desks to the door. He doesn’t dare look at anyone as he passes, aware that this will probably spread around his year, if not the whole school. There’s no way to save face, but right now everything is building up in his chest and stomach and he doesn’t care that his skin is hot and flushed.

He collapses against the wall of the building and rubs at his eyes, swallowing repeatedly to make sure the only sounds that escape are the little gasps and strained noises of trying not to cry. After only a minute or so, the door opens and he panics, certain the teacher will ask him to come back inside. But it’s just Michael, who probably twisted a few arms to be allowed outside.

“C’mon, Ash,” Michael breathes, dropping down next to him and wrapping his arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer until his head drops to his shoulders. Ashton remains in a tight ball, trying to be quiet as he cries into his shoulder. “What’s going on?”

Ashton shakes his head and loosens, stretching his legs out and clinging onto him. Michael holds him close like that. “I—he—” He stops and forces air into his lungs.

“Shh, it’s okay,” Michael soothes. “You can tell me.”

“He’s gone,” Ashton sobs, letting Michael wind a hand through his messy curls and comb it halfheartedly. “He left. He’s not coming back this time, he—he’s done.”

“Warwick?” Michael says, pausing his motions for a moment. “Ash. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.” He tries to dry Ashton’s cheeks with his uniform jumper sleeve, a sweet gesture. “It’s going to be alright. You can come to my house any time, or Luke’s—our dads will be your dad too. You’re going to be okay.”

“I know,” Ashton says, still trembling as he pulls away and rubs at his red eyes and nose. “It’s okay. I just—Christmas is coming up, I—I begged him to stay. Why couldn’t he have just stayed for _Christmas_?”

“I don’t know.” Michael strokes his hair and sighs. “It’s not your fault, Ash.”

“If I had been just a little bit _better,_ ” Ashton whispers. “If I hadn’t gotten into so many fights and if they hadn’t had to argue about me—”

“It’s _not your fault._ ” Michael squeezes Ashton tighter. “You did everything you could. Sometimes parents just don’t get along. It’s going to get better. Don’t cry, there’s nothing else you could have done.”

Ashton nods, because as hard as it is to accept, he knows Michael is right.

“Do you want to go back inside?” Michael offers.

Ashton shakes his head, and Michael doesn’t protest. “Okay,” he says simply. “We’ll just sit here, then. As long as you need.”

They stay outside the rest of the period.

Luke runs up to Ashton after school and throws his arms around him with such force that Ashton is nearly toppled over. Surprised, he reciprocates. “Michael told me,” Luke says, raising up on tiptoes to kiss his cheek again. “You’re welcome in my family any time.”

Ashton tightens his hold around Luke’s waist, ignoring the wayward looks directed from other students preparing to go home. “Sorry I was a dick all day,” he whispers.

“You weren’t,” Luke assures him. “I’m sorry, Ashton.”

It’s really all he needs to hear.

The three of them start the long walk home, Michael keeping up most of the conversation and trying to make Ashton laugh. Luke sticks resolutely by his side, a comforting presence. Ashton thinks about how hard he worried about them finding out about the way things really were in his house.

Ashton knows that he will be loved regardless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't think i LOVE this chapter but i am glad it's so long bc i made you guys wait forever i'm sorry  
> title from new national anthem by pierce the veil (what a great song)  
> please please please please please tell me what you think. i cannot emphasize enough how important comments are and how thirsty i am please  
> i love u xx


	7. kiss me like you wanna be loved

_December 2008 (continued)_

Ashton realizes fast that he has to take control. His mother ceases doing the important things—work, goodnight hugs, etc. Ashton was used to acting like a second father to his siblings, but now he is effectively their only father figure, at least until he can figure out how to properly stay in touch with his dad. Ideally, he’ll take Harry and Lauren now and then, and stay in their lives like he said he would.

For now, Ashton has to step up.

It means getting them up in the mornings and packing their lunches, getting them on the bus and coming to school late in the process. Luke has Michael and his brothers to protect him now that Ashton’s focus has shifted. It means making his siblings snacks and supervising homework and ensuring they get bathed. It means telling them bedtime stories three times and tucking them in and finally collapsing into his own bed, exhausted from trying to juggle his own life in the mix of playing dad.

He wants to tell himself that while he is fueled by adrenaline and instinct, his mother is still in shock, and so it’s justified that she lies on the couch all day, watching TV with dead eyes. But really, he thinks bitterly, she’s never been a stellar mother, so why start now?

It’s just that while she’s bigoted and prejudiced, she’s always done just fine in every other area, and it’s a bit of a slap to the face to see her crumble so easily.

It doesn’t last forever, which Ashton is grateful for. But it takes a week and a half for her to start kissing them goodnight again, and longer to start looking more as if she’s aware of the life around her. Ashton shields Lauren mostly, because Harry doesn’t really understand what’s going on anyway. But Lauren does. She’s morphed into a sober little girl of six years old, and Ashton dislikes that her childhood slipped through the cracks. She understands.

They’re given an open invitation to Luke’s for Christmas, which is relief, seeing as Ashton’s running himself ragged just trying to keep everyone’s head above water. There will be no tree, possibly no presents, no stockings or fancy Christmas dinners at his house. He refuses to give that Christmas to his siblings. It’s not fair.

Who will give them presents, though?

He tries not to think about it.

When Luke’s family gets their tree, he takes Harry and Lauren over to their house to watch it get brought in, holding onto Harry’s hand. Lauren is sitting on the floor, watching with big eyes and stroking Molly.

“It looks so nice,” Luke says, beaming. “Ash, d’you wanna help decorate?”

Ashton pushes Harry forward instead, and nods at Lauren to do the same. Lauren looks awestruck and begins hanging ornaments right beside Luke, Jack and Ben. Ashton kneels beside her. “Look, Loz, put the big heavy ones on the fat lower branches,” he says, showing her. “That way they don’t break the little branches.”

Lauren does her very best. Harry does what he can, which isn’t much.

“You’re all welcome to come on Christmas Eve and stay all the way through Christmas dinner,” Liz offers, standing near Ashton. She’s aware of the situation. Ashton cracks a smile, nodding.

It’ll be good to be in a house full of life, until they find their feet. Ashton knows Lauren and Harry need that.

“Who wants to put the star on the tree?” Andy asks, returning to the living room. “It’s gotta be someone I can lift.”

“Why don’t you let Harry do it?” Loz suggests.

“Yeah, he’s the smallest,” Luke agrees, glancing across at Ashton, who nods gratefully.

“Alright. Here we go,” Andy says, handing the star to Harry and lifting him high over his shoulders with a groan. “Oof, been a while since my boys were small enough for this.”

Harry beams and clips the star to the top branch. Ashton can’t help but smile at the look of untouched joy on his face.

“We should get home soon,” Ashton says, a hand on Lauren’s shoulder. “Mum will want us back for dinner.” He knows she doesn’t like them spending too much time here, which is Ashton’s fault, not that he can possibly rectify it, but he doubts she’ll have a problem with coming here for Christmas, since they won’t have much of a celebration anyway.

Ashton’s mind is on the money this year. He does some figuring in his head; Warwick will pay child support, but that will go towards food and clothing, not presents. They were tight on Monday before, but it’s worse this year. He’ll have to work out getting presents for Harry and Lauren and his mum. Whatever the case, it’ll be a measly spread.

As long as he can preserve Christmas for them, that’s what matters.

He goes home that night and locks the door to his room, hoping Harry doesn’t want to come in, and empties his piggy bank on the ground. Various bills spill out and a mass of coins thuds to the carpet.

He counts quickly. A few twenties and at least twenty dollars more in change. That’ll be enough to cover family, at least, but what about presents for Luke and Michael? What will he do for them?

He’ll need more money to cover all his bases, and yet it’s a week before Christmas already.

He frowns and scoops the money back into his piggy bank. Will his mother make an effort this year, or is even that beyond her? Can Ashton blame her for falling behind after what’s happened?

He can’t, he finds.

 

* * *

 

Harry is easiest to shop for. Four and a half year old boys like a very limited array of things. And on top of that, they’re easily satisfied. If Harry dislikes what he gets, Ashton could as easily pop a sucker into his mouth and he would probably be alright. Dump trucks and Power Ranger action figures fit easily into his budget.

Lauren isn’t difficult either. She’s still young enough to like dolls and typical girly things, so Ashton ends up buying a simple doll for her. She’ll be happy with it. He should get her something else, but he doesn’t know what.

That’s a good half of his Christmas shopping, over.

They meet up at Michael’s, sitting (well, Luke is lying with his head in Michael’s lap) before the Christmas tree. It’s even bigger, more ornate than Luke’s, although Ashton isn’t sure just how they pulled that off, seeing as Michael’s parents are constantly in and out of the house. Michael shrugs it off and says that they did it in one day, and then they were off again.

Ashton wonders, not for the first time, why it doesn’t seem to bother Michael that his parents are never around.

“I still have to get a present for Ben,” Luke says. “I don’t even know what he wants.”

“Easy enough. I wanna get something for the housekeeper,” Michael puts in. “She’s always around, and she cooks me dinner sometimes. But beats me what she wants. All I know about her is that she’s nice to me.”

“You could get her some jewelry,” Luke suggests. “I bet she would like that. My mum told me the way to a woman’s heart is jewelry and chocolate. Although she did say that she didn’t think I would need to.”

Ashton smiles to himself; of course his mother would say that. And of course, Luke wouldn’t think about it twice.

“What are you smiling about?” Luke says, rolling over on his stomach and out of Michael’s lap. “Hey, you’ve been pretty quiet all day. Whatcha thinking about?”

Ashton shrugs, looking up and down the big tree. “Need to get Lauren and Mum something,” he says, biting the side of his tongue.

“Hmm,” Luke says thoughtfully. “I only have the same advice for you, I guess.”

“I got her a doll already. But I need to get something that she’ll think is from Santa.” Ashton sighs, distracted as his eyes rake over the lights, wishing his own house was so lavishly decorated. “Mum’s just not putting much effort in this year.”

Luke frowns at that, obviously feeling sympathetic. Ashton wishes he could retrace his steps and shut his mouth; nobody cares if he’s trying to save Christmas, some bigass hero. Fuck.

“Hey,” Luke says, perking up out of nowhere. “You know I have my old tea sets. They’re porcelain, they look like new. You could have them, for Lauren, if you wanted.”

“Really?” Ashton could hug Luke. Perfect. He reaches for Luke and scoops him into his lap. “Thanks, Luke.”

“You can stop by my house before we get home,” Luke says with a nod. He wraps his arms around Ashton’s neck and kisses his cheek. “All solved.”

Ashton takes Luke’s advice later on, as well, and buys his mother a nice necklace. He feels good, even though Christmas is coming up fast and he isn’t done. He’s probably a fool for getting comfortable, but otherwise, he’ll drive himself insane.

 

* * *

 

Ashton really wants to get something special for Luke and Michael, but he’s not sure how or what. They’re both special to him in different ways, and have gone out of their way to be helpful lately. When Ashton thinks about it, he doesn’t talk to anyone else these days but them, and he would be nowhere without them. He’s glad he punched Michael in the nose that day, and he’s glad that Luke forgave Michael. He’s glad that Luke moved in next door, obviously.

He figures that they’ll both probably let him off the hook if he slacks on present-giving this year, but it feels all the more important to get something. What would he have done without them?

It’s two days before Christmas, and Ashton is stumped. It’s strange that he doesn’t know offhand what to get; he knows Michael will want something nerdy, probably, and Luke will want something pretty. But he can’t think of something they would both want that they don’t already have.

Luke has skirts and hair things and everything he could want, Ashton supposes. Michael’s dad works for a gaming company; he literally gets whatever games he wants. He has nothing special to give either of them. What could he possibly get that they would want?

He returns to the mall to look. He browses several of the girls’ stores to see if something cute pops out at him for Luke, but then again, he doesn’t know what Luke wants; he wears his skirts sparingly at best, especially after the locker room incident, and it’s not like he’s looking to crossdress entirely.

Two days. And on Christmas Eve he’s hardly likely to have time to look for presents. He should just get something.

Then he walks past the Hot Topic, and his eyes latch onto something inside. An advertisement.

_Signed My Chemical Romance posters._

Michael would lose his shit.

There’s a decent line for it, and no guarantee they would have one left when he gets to the front. Not to mention, it would eat up almost all the rest of his money. But Michael would flip, and Ashton wants to have the privilege of seeing him shriek when he opens it.

Against his better judgment, he gets in line.

By some bizarre stroke of luck (or the God his mum believes in is really looking out for him), he leaves the store half an hour later in a daze with a rolled up, signed MCR poster. Michael really is going to love him after this.

It nags on his conscience, though, that he has nothing left to buy Luke a present. After all, Ashton loves Luke with all his might, and surely something as strong as that deserves at least a Christmas present.

 

* * *

 

Ashton is a mess of anxiety on Christmas Eve, when he goes over to Luke’s house. His mother settles tiredly in an armchair and allows Liz to entertain her while Ben kindly keeps Harry and Lauren busy. Ashton can smell dinner being cooked—better than anything he’s had in a while—but he can’t help thinking that there should have been an extra present for Luke under that tree.

There’s nothing to be done. He should be grateful that he pulled off what he did, and that his mother even made an attempt and bought some presents. All things considered, everything went well.

He tries to brush aside the guilt and enjoy dinner. It’s rich food, compared to the instant macaroni they’ve practically been living on. And he can’t help but be excited for tomorrow, even if he won’t be getting much in the way of presents tomorrow. There’s always some excitement, simply because it’s Christmas.

“Whatcha thinking about?” Luke asks, nudging Ashton with his elbow.

Ashton shovels a spoonful of food into his mouth. “Nothing,” he mumbles, purposefully busying himself with eating. How is he going to face Luke when all the presents have been opened and Luke is still looking for Ashton’s?

He has to head this off tonight. It’ll be easier to swallow that way.

As soon as the dishes are cleared away, Ashton grabs Luke’s hand. “I need to talk to you,” he whispers. “Outside.”

Luke gives him a befuddled look, but he lets Ashton pull him into the backyard. It’s dark, the moon not nearly bright enough tonight. Ashton is okay with that; it makes them invisible to anyone inside.

“I want to tell you something,” Ashton says, steeling himself for the worst. “You know that when my dad left, we—everything fell flat. Mum stopped going to work for a while, stopped doing a lot of things. And—and I knew this Christmas would be awful for Harry and Lauren. Money was tight. And Mum’s been lackluster. I got so caught up in getting stuff for everyone else and I—I forgot about you.” Ashton pauses, ducking his head. “I didn’t save enough to get you something, in the end.”

“It’s okay,” Luke says gently. He takes Ashton’s hand. “I know.”

“It’s not okay,” Ashton disagrees. “You’re—you’re so important, Luke. And you were just the best this year.”

“Don’t worry, Ash,” Luke says. “I know how hard you worked to make Christmas perfect for Harry and Lauren. It’s okay.”

“It’s not. I’m sorry, Luke.”

Luke smiles, barely visible in the dark. “If you think it’ll make you feel better, there is something I want,” Luke says, almost shyly. “It won’t cost you anything at all.”

Ashton’s heart beats a little faster. “What is it?”

“I want you to kiss me,” Luke says, and Ashton cannot believe his luck. “You don’t have to, though, if you don’t want to.”

Ashton doesn’t bother answering, just lurches forward and seizes Luke by the shoulders and kisses him.

It’s so much better than the first time, because Ashton wants it like hell, sliding his arms around Luke’s slim waist and bending his head down to compensate for the height difference. Luke responds by tipping his head up to make it easier, small hands gripping the back of Ashton’s jumper. Ashton can feel his heart pounding in his chest, and wonders if Luke can feel it too, where his collarbones meet Ashton’s body. Luke lets out the tiniest of gasps, and Ashton thinks it’s beautiful.

He could kiss Luke forever, he thinks. Just on and on and on, fireworks in his head with his heart burning. But they can’t do that here, with their families so close. At least with Ashton’s family.

But Ashton locks the memory of it away in his head to take out and look at later. And then he pulls away and rests his head on Luke’s shoulder, sighing.

“Thank you,” Luke whispers, hands curling at the nape of Ashton’s neck. “Thank you.”

Ashton feels as though he’s the one who has been given a precious gift.

 

* * *

 

Luke wakes him up early in the morning by jumping on top of his sleeping bag and yelling, “It’s Christmas!”

Ashton wants to murder him a little, but mostly wants to kiss him again. “It’s, like, 5:30,” he groans, even though he knows Luke always wakes up early on Christmas.

“Let’s go look at the presents,” Luke says. For Ashton, who knows what will be there for himself and his siblings, it isn’t very exciting, but he supposes that for Luke, whose parents conceal everything until the morning itself, it’s exhilarating. He drags himself out of the sleeping bag, wincing at the cold air on his feet, and follows Luke out of the bedroom and down the stairs.

Luke falls to his knees in front of the presents and begins peering through the branches at the name tags, pointing out which ones are which.

“Oh look, one for you,” Luke says. “From Mum.”

“We don’t have that wrapping paper,” Ashton says with a frown.

“Not your mum, mine,” Luke says patiently. “There are more of them in here.”

Ashton looks at Luke in surprise, his voice going soft as his eyes widen. “Really?” he breathes, making a mental note to hug Liz whenever she comes down the stairs. God, she’s a saint.

“Well of course,” Luke says, frowning. “She knew that you guys wouldn’t be getting much this year, so she got stuff for all of you. Some of them for Harry and Lauren are from ‘Santa’, though.”

“Wow,” Ashton says. Suddenly, what they’re doing is far more exciting. He bursts into an uncontainable smile as they try to read all the labels. They can’t see the ones in the back, even when they reach around to plug in the lights.

When they give up on present searching, they cuddle up on the couch together in a heap and look at the now illuminated tree. Ashton is always in awe of Christmas lights; there is simply nothing more magical and amazing. Luke is lying half on top of him, nestled into the curve of Ashton’s body. Ashton keeps a hand on his hip and his chin atop his head. “I’m so excited,” Luke whispers, yawning.

Ashton smiles fondly. “You’re gonna fall asleep, aren’t you?”

Luke shakes his head fervently, pulling his knees to his chest and keeping his eyes stubbornly open. Unsurprisingly, a few minutes of lying in silence has him snoozing in Ashton’s embrace, going limp. Ashton feels nothing but soaring affection.

Ben comes down the stairs a few minutes after the clock hits six. Ashton doesn’t bother budging. If Ben doesn’t know anything is happening, he would have to be blind, and besides, Ben should be used to seeing them cuddling in the mornings.

“He woke up too early again,” Ben says knowingly. “Stupid kid.”

He sits on the couch by Luke’s feet and Ashton extracts himself and sits up. “Do you still get excited over Christmas?”

“Kinda,” Ben admits. “’M sixteen now, it’s probably stupid, but I guess it’s still fun. Jack used to love it, you know. He’s the one who got Luke so into it. Then when I told him Santa wasn’t real, he cried for so long, and Luke asked him what was wrong because, you know, he does that thing where he wants to fix everyone’s problems? And he tried to hug Jack until Jack shrieked that Santa wasn’t real, and then Luke started sobbing, and I got hauled off for it. That’s how we broke Jack’s heart at 9, and Luke’s at 6.”

“Jack liked Christmas?”

“He likes to say he’s the Grinch, but he still likes it, he just won’t tell you. Yeah, and that movie made Luke cry. Both the live action and the animated.”

“Was he little?”

“No, he was eight. He’s still a big baby, though.”

“No ’m not,” Luke mumbles and sits up, curling against Ashton. “You woke me up.”

“We should get Jack up,” Ben suggests. “Go boy, go. Good boy.”

Luke grumbles and lurches sideways, falling with his head in Ben’s lap. “Not a dog.”

“C’mere, pup,” Ben teases, hauling him up and giving him a kiss to the cheek. “You excited to open presents?”

“Yeah,” Luke says, leaning back and resting his head on Ben’s shoulder. “Did Mum and Dad get me something good?”

“Lots of good stuff,” Ben promises. “Wanna go wake everyone up?”

“I can’t move,” Luke protests sleepily.

“C’mon, I’ll give you a piggy back ride.”

Luke agrees and climbs onto his back. Ashton chooses to stay downstairs and call his mum to come over with the kids now, having left last night. Within the hour, there are three parents making tea and coffee in the kitchen and a whopping six children in the living room waiting to be allowed to start ripping wrapping off.

They have to take turns, and Luke starts. Ashton is so thankful that Liz stuck extra presents under the tree for him and his siblings, mostly for them, since they officially still believe in Santa. He feels a sense of pride when they open their presents. It’s such a nice, selfless atmosphere; even Luke and his brothers are getting along with hardly any friendly teasing, just lots of hugs.

As for Ashton, he gets a new pair of Converse from Luke’s parents, a new crash cymbal for his drum kit, t-shirts, and the greatest gift of all—a higher sense of belonging and family.

But when he thinks it’s over, Luke pulls a small, flat, messily-wrapped present from behind the tree and gives it to Ashton. Ashton had almost forgotten; Luke still hasn’t given him his Christmas present.

Ashton unwraps it as gently as he can, noticing the wrinkles and haphazard taping that lets him know Luke wrapped this on his own. When the wrapping is put aside, Ashton had in his hands a crude, but recognizable, pencil sketch of his own face, like a distorted mirror. His mouth is lopsided and his facial shape is not quite right, the shading is uneven and some things seem a little strange, but it has impressive depth and likeness, considering he’s never seen any of Luke’s art before.

“What’s this?” Ashton says, looking up at Luke in surprise.

“I drew it,” Luke says, a slight frown settling over his features. “Is it alright?”

“You drew this?” Ashton says incredulously, resisting the urge to swear. “I didn’t know you could draw.”

“I’ve taken art all year,” Luke says shyly. “Do you like it?”

“It’s incredible. You’ve never shown me any of your work before.”

“I didn’t want to show you until it was better,” Luke says. Ashton thinks that somehow it’s just like Luke to pull a talent out of his ass. It’s really that Luke picks things up quickly, and if he decides he’s going to be good at something, that’s that. “I’m still practicing, but my teacher said I made a lot of progress.”

“What the hell?” Jack says, looking closer. “You drew that?”

“It didn’t take me long,” Luke says, blushing with the attention. Ben snorts.

“He drew for hours every day,” Ben whispers in Ashton’s ear. “Scrapped, like, two first drafts.”

Ashton thinks it’s the sweetest present he’s ever received. Ignoring the fact that his mother is watching, he throws his arms around Luke and hugs him as hard as he can. God, he’s in so deep.

He doesn’t care, for once; he wants this Christmas to last forever.

(Michael does, in fact, lose his shit the next day when Ashton gives him the poster. He’s so excited that he sweeps Ashton into a rare hug and shrieks into his ear about it. Luke giggles in the corner. Ashton thinks that although he doesn’t have a father this year, it turned out alright.)

 

* * *

 

_January 2009_

The three of them go to the mall on the first weekend of school. Ashton is relieved that nothing big has happened, and is mostly glad to just spend some time with them before things get crazy again.

It’s almost fun, holding a secret from Michael. Luke can’t help but stick close to Ashton’s side, holding his hand when Michael isn’t looking. When they sit down at the table to eat ice cream cones, Luke sneaks a lick in off of Ashton’s, a sly way to brush lips even on “accident”. In a way, it cements for Ashton that Luke wants the same thing, that Christmas Eve wasn’t just some illusion he created to ease his guilt.

“Shit,” Michael says out of nowhere, seizing Ashton’s arm and nearly making him drop his cone. “Shit. Do I look alright?”

“Yeah, sure,” Ashton says, disgruntled.

“Is my hair alright?”

“As emo as ever,” Ashton says offhandedly.

“What is it, Michael?” Luke asks keenly, tilting his head.

Michael doesn’t have time to respond, and instead plasters on the biggest smile Ashton has ever seen. “Hey, Calum,” he says, as a thin, dark-haired, honey-skinned boy passes by. The boy stops and looks at Michael, a taller girl who looks like she must be her sister stopping behind.

“Michael,” he says. Ashton thinks he looks awfully serious. “Hey. Uh—this is my sister, Mali. These your—friends?”

“Yeah,” Michael says, folding his hands in his lap. “Did you finish learning the guitar song?”

“Yeah,” Calum says. “Um, I’m having trouble picking quickly. You’re good at this, right? I mean, I’ve seen you playing.”

Michael blushes, but Ashton recognizes it as pride. “I’ll show you on Monday. Done with science, too?”

“Right, I should do that,” Calum says with an embarrassed smile. “Hey, I gotta go, my sister’s waiting on me.” He gestures back at her; she smiles pleasantly, a stark contrast to Calum’s sobriety. “I’ll see you at school, Mikey.”

“Text if you need help,” Michael calls out. Calum waves and moves away with his sister. Michael heaves out a huge sigh and rubs at his red cheeks.

“What was that?” Ashton asks, smirking. “He called you Mikey.”

“So?” Michael fires back defensively. “You guys do sometimes.”

“We’ve known you for ages, though,” Luke chimes in.

“Well, get used to it.”

“How do you know him, anyway? He seems too cool for us.”

“He’s in my science and music classes,” Michael says, folding his arms. “We’re lab partners, too. And you lot can shut up.”

“Excuse us! Why didn’t you tell us you had a crush?”

“I don’t have a crush!” Michael protests, too loudly. “So what if I do? You’re the one who told me to date a footy boy!”

“He doesn’t look queer,” Luke says doubtfully.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Luke, neither do I.”

“Some people would argue,” Luke says politely.

“Then there’s status, he’s bound to be way more popular than all of us and you would have to start sitting with the jocks instead,” Ashton adds. “You don’t even like jocks. And Michael, he’s so _serious_. Does he have a stick up his ass?”

Michael is aware they’re teasing (mostly). “He’s cute,” he grumbles. “And you better not say a word to him.”

“Michael has a crush, Michael has a crush,” Luke singsongs, scooting out of reach the instant Michael reaches for him menacingly.

“Fuck you guys. He’s smart, nice, and not only is he going to make the high levels this year, but he’s on a club team, too. He’s even decent at the guitar. He’s perfect.”

“Scrawny,” Ashton says with a cough.

“So is Luke—no offense, kid—and you still think he’s perfect.”

“Totally different,” Ashton argues. “Luke is proportionally scrawny. No offense, Luke.”

“You know, I’m starting to feel a little offended.”

“Calum’s so _gangly_ , though.”

“Hey,” Michael snaps, glaring at Ashton. “I don’t care. I don’t want to hear it. Someday, I’m going to marry him and raise his children.”

Ashton laughs. Michael won’t remember Calum in a year.

 

* * *

 

_February 2009_

For the first time in possibly ever, Luke seems focused on two things.

There’s his art, which Ashton can tell is improving. Luke spends his lunch sketching the things around him, teeth clamped down firmly on his lip and fingers working over paper, scrunching it up and throwing it away before starting again. Luke is a perfectionist, and Ashton recognizes some sort of new drive within him. He’s a bit detached sometimes, when he’s sketching something in the distance and only half listening to Ashton and Michael talk.

Ashton’s new favorite thing is listening to him talk about his art and the pride in his eyes when he shows them one he’s worked on all weekend, or an A on a drawing he did. Ashton could listen to him talk all day, because there’s nothing like seeing him enthuse about something he’s in love with. It’s odd, because Ashton remembers Luke doing some halfhearted drawings in elementary school here and there, and getting good grades on his art projects, but nobody, not even Luke, ever really lingered on it.

There are still flaws in his drawing, sure; there are lots of them. Depth perception, scale. Luke isn’t even allowed to draw in color yet, because he tried, and even Ashton could see it was awful. Ashton supposes it probably has something to do with how Luke has always seen the world as something beautiful and intricate. And even he can see the progress when Luke shows him his art from the beginning of last year compared to the sketch he gave Ashton.

The other thing Luke seems focused on is Ashton himself.

It seems some days that he never takes his eyes off Ashton, and now that they both know what they want, it’s easier for Ashton to dissolve the hard knot in his chest. He can maintain that it’s wrong, but it’s obvious that he can’t do anything about it. It’s easier to push it to the back of his mind when Luke’s hand is on his leg and his fingers are brushing against Ashton’s skin.

Today, Luke is just shading in the pink notebook he carries everywhere. He hardly ever goes anywhere without it, and Ashton can see his art improving little by little. According to Luke, he’s supposed to be practicing gradients.

“It’s looking good,” Ashton says, resting his head on Luke’s shoulder. “You’re a fast learner.”

“Thanks,” Luke says distractedly. His free hand slips down to hold Ashton’s, and Ashton’s free hand slides onto his leg.

It’s so natural that Luke can do it without looking, without ever losing his focus on his drawing. There are none of the nerves and awkwardness that come with first relationships, only slow warmth building.

And for the first time since Ashton can remember, he isn’t so worried.

 

* * *

 

_April 2009_

Luke shrieks in delight as Michael spins him around, _I’ve Got a Woman_ by Ray Charles (ironic, Ashton thinks, since none of them have or want a woman at the moment) blasting out the speakers behind. Ashton can’t stop smiling from where he sits on his sleeping bag, watching Michael twirl him, one hand around his waist. Luke’s face is red from laughter and he tosses his head back as he giggles, Michael trying to sing into his ear. Ashton joins in.

“Stop, stop,” Luke says, giggling harder and trying to bury his face in Michael’s neck. “I can’t breathe, stop.”

Michael releases him and lets him fall onto Ashton, whereupon Luke wraps his arms around Ashton’s neck and laughs harder as Ashton tries not to fall backwards. Ashton fights the urge to kiss Luke’s cheek, knowing Michael’s right in front of them. It’s not like Michael would care, but it’s their secret. It’s precious, untouchable. Pure.

“I’m gonna go to bed,” Michael says with a yawn. “Dancing is hard work.”

“Call that dancing?” Ashton teases. “Better brush up in case Calum asks you to formal.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Michael scoffs. “I didn’t ask for this kind of abuse.” He plops down on his sleeping bag and slides under the flap. “You guys are the worst friends I could have asked for.”

“And we love you too,” Luke says, crawling over to his own sleeping bag. “Michael, are you gonna ask him out? You would be super cute together.”

“Yeah, no,” Michael snorts. “He wants a piece of this, he can ask for it. I’m not putting my reputation on the line here.”

“Still going to marry him, too?”

“Absolutely. As soon as he gets his shit together. Now shut up about it and let me sleep, alright?”

Luke smiles, self-satisfied, and wriggles down in his sleeping bag. There’s a long silence that drags on for minutes as they all try to shut their eyes and get some sleep on the hard living room floor. There’s the sound of three sets of lungs, each trying to calm down and stay in its own space without bumping into another. Michael’s breathing is the first to settle into a steady pattern as he drops off.

Ashton lies awake, however, and tries to match his breathing with Luke’s. He knows Luke’s soft, hollow breathing so well; there’s no chest in it, just throat, shallow and high. Ashton wonders if when Luke’s voice drops, his breathing will change.

It could be half an hour before Luke’s voice finds its way to Ashton’s ears, a quiet little whisper. A gasp of air, Ashton could mistake it for that, the way it expels into the darkness like an exhalation.

“Ashton.”

“What is it, Luke?” Ashton whispers, turning onto his side, and straining to see Luke’s pale face in the low lighting. With the size of Michael’s living room, they’re all spaced decently far apart, and it makes it difficult to make his face out.

“I’m lonely over here,” Luke says.

Ashton smiles.

Luke doesn’t ask for permission, knowing Ashton wouldn’t deny him, and slips out of his sleeping bag as quietly as he can. Ashton scoots the side of his sleeping bag and lets Luke slide in. In a year or so, when Luke is bigger, they won’t be able to do this anymore. For now, Ashton wraps his arms around Luke, hearts beating against each other’s chest.

Ashton has never felt more at home than when he’s pressed up against Luke like this.

 

* * *

 

_June 2009_

Ashton is lying on the field after hours at Richmond, Luke inches away from his outstretched fingertips. The afternoon sun is weak but bright, enough to breathe a little warmth into their bodies. The grass is cold to the touch, holding on to the feeling of the frost that clung to the blades in the morning when they got to school. Ashton feels warmer just having Luke next to him.

Luke rolls over and on top of Ashton, a slight weight that presses his head back into the grass and leaves his chest heavy. He smiles giddily at Ashton, the way he always does; the honeymoon dizziness never seems to wear off. He bumps his forehead against Ashton’s and then connects their lips, in his sloppy, inexperienced way. Ashton wouldn’t have it any other way, and pulls Luke’s body tighter to his, tilting his chin up to make it easier. Luke’s legs straddle his own, slim and girlish. It doesn’t matter that he’s still got the baby fat on his cheeks and his hips, just matters that Ashton thinks he’s beautiful no matter how he looks. Luke possesses some sort of natural glow, something alluring, that shines through.

“I like you a lot,” Luke says, sliding down and dropping his head to rest on Ashton’s chest. “I like kissing you, too.”

Ashton likes kissing Luke just as much, maybe even more; they take a huge risk doing it here, where they could be easily seen by a dawdling student. But their luck has held so far. They don’t kiss often, don’t have the opportunity or even the need to, but it feels right, Ashton thinks, to be locked against Luke. It feels secure.

Ashton thinks it’s a shame that he’s too young to be in love with Luke, because if he could guess, if he were to take a stab in the dark and use his instinct alone, he would say this feels a lot like love. It’s too bad that they’re too old to still say _I love you_ as casually and easily as they did when they were children. This is different, Ashton knows; this is _in love_ versus just love. If he’s not in love, he doesn’t know what he can call this. What else feels like warmth and safety and nervousness and messy eagerness, all wrapped up in a moment?

Ashton isn’t even 15, so he says, “I like you a lot, too.”

Luke giggles and nuzzles his nose into Ashton’s uniform jumper. “How much?”

Ashton grins, twinkling eyes facing up to the traveling clouds. “As hard as I can squeeze you.”

“I like you as long as it takes to walk home,” Luke counters, smiling sweetly and shutting his eyes.

“I like you more,” Ashton says softly. “I like you as far as it is to America.”

“That’s a long way,” Luke says, sighing contentedly. “I don’t think I can top that.” He pauses and then asks, “Do you think we’ll always be together?”

“Of course I do,” Ashton says, rubbing his back. “Don’t you?”

“Yeah.” Luke is quiet for a moment, blinking lazily, eyes half shut against the glare of the sunlight. “Do you think we’ll ever tell Michael?”

Ashton doesn’t expect the question, but it doesn’t jolt him, doesn’t surprise him. “Maybe,” he says uncertainly. “Someday.”

“Okay.” Luke smiles, kissing Ashton quickly on the mouth again. “I like you the most.”

“How so?” Ashton asks, propping himself up on his elbows and waiting, amused, for Luke’s response.

“I love you,” Luke says, as if it’s simple and easy. “Isn’t that the most anyone can like someone?”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's a bit of an abrupt ending but there ya have it  
> this is exactly 6.3k words long holy shit  
> title from kiss me by ed sheeran (what a babe)  
> you can come find me on tumblr at the username clingyluke or on twitter at @desperateashton (but i actually do some separate writing stuff on tumblr so you can look under my writing tag for more drabble type stuff)  
> (I WOULD REALLY APPRECIATE SOME COMMENTS GUYS THANKS)  
> love you all and cannot wait to write more of this xxx  
> (p.s. school starts in two days so updates may be hard to come by idk yet :/ )


	8. you make my heart shake, bend and break

_July 2009_

“Happy birthday to us, happy birthday to us,” Luke sings softly, pulling up daisies in a circle around him. “Happy birthday dear us, happy birthday to us.”

Ashton claps sarcastically, and Luke grins and drops his chin to his chest. Michael’s not paying much attention, lying on his side with his jumper over his hands to protect them from the chill in the air. His daisy chain lies half unfinished, and after Luke drapes his own on Ashton’s head, he picks up Michael’s to begin finishing it.

“Can’t believe you’re thirteen,” Michael says lazily to Luke. “Growin’ up so fast.”

“What about me?” Ashton says, but his offended intent comes across more half-hearted than he wants it to.

“Nobody cares,” Michael adds, which earns him a slap to the back of the head. He shuts his eyes and smiles.

Ashton finishes his daisy crown and puts it on the side of Michael’s face, and Michael blinks lethargically and accepts it. Ashton glances at Luke; the worn chain shines over the back of his neck in the sunlight, glinting where his jumper is cut too low to cover it. He usually keeps his own necklace at home, but today the chain is wrapped twice around his wrist, like a bracelet, hidden beneath his jumper sleeve, as if to emphasize that they do everything together on their birthday.

And then when Luke leans too far forward, the heavy pendant slides over the lip of his shirt. The chains are too short now to properly hide the significance behind t-shirt necks. Ashton catches himself staring at the pendant, perhaps too long, because Michael sits up faster than expected and takes it in his hands. The _I love you_ is only half readable, the other half etched into Ashton’s half of the heart.

“What’s this?” Michael says in amusement, and Luke exhales softly, surprised. “Who has the other half?”

Ashton raises his eyes to Luke’s, and pulls back his jumper sleeve. He feels the need to rescue Luke, to take the spotlight off him and ease the tension. “I do,” he says softly. “It was when we were at the beach, and you were in London.”

Michael seems almost taken aback at this new information, and Ashton holds his breath. It’s ridiculous to think Michael wouldn’t support them, and this borders on telling him about _them._

But Michael nods and releases Luke’s necklace. “I miss everything,” he says with a scoff, avoiding their eyes. “Go to London for two weeks, suddenly your best mates are in love.”

“Just friends,” Luke mumbles, and it’s more of a whisper. Weak, halfhearted. Ashton nods.

And it’s not like the hard ache in his chest he used to get, because he has Luke, Luke is _his_ and he is _Luke’_ s and everything is as he wanted it to be, but there’s still a wet blanket of guilt that settles over him. It makes him feel hollow and sad.

“Sure,” Michael says, nodding more vigorously. “Just friends.”

Ashton isn’t sure who Michael’s trying to convince that he believes that.

 

* * *

_September 2009_

The Sydney dust storm takes everyone by surprise, settling over the skies in a red cloud that covers everything and turns the city into an apocalyptic wasteland. Nobody wants to go to school, and Ashton is given an easy pass from his mother, who is convinced the blood red haze is punishment sent from God. He piles on a jumper and his winter coat before sprinting across the front yard to Luke’s house. The air outside is hard to breathe, so he buries his mouth and nose in the inside of his coat and breathes through that instead. His eyes squint half shut until he reaches the porch and is let inside.

Liz has elected to go to her school and teach regardless, but has apparently allowed Luke and his brothers to stay home, probably Jack’s work if he had a guess. Luke seems a little more subdued than usual as he leads Ashton upstairs to his bedroom. He climbs up onto his windowsill, pressing his fingers to the glass and looking outside. His breath fogs up the glass.

“It’s just a dust storm,” Ashton says, collapsing onto the bed with an _oof_. “It’ll be gone soon.”

Luke comes down from the windowsill and lies next to Ashton, sighing. “It’s dark. And cold.”

Ashton smiles gently and pulls Luke to his chest, rubbing noses with him before settling his chin over Luke’s head. Ashton likes this best, because he can tilt his head down and kiss Luke’s soft, fair hair. “It’s just a little storm. It’ll pass. Don’t be scared. Would I lie to you?”

“No,” Luke admits with a halfhearted smile. “Just makes me uneasy is all.”

“My mum thinks it’s from God,” Ashton tells him, earning a surprised giggle. “That’s how you know it’ll be alright.”

“You don’t believe in God, do you?” Luke asks. It’s a naïve question, or at least it is when it comes from such a naïve mouth.

“No,” Ashton says. “I don’t think so.”

“And the things your mum says?” Luke presses.

Ashton knows what he’s talking about. “I don’t know,” he says, sighing. Luke trails a hand down to where his chest rises and falls. “I guess not.”

“Do you think what we do is wrong?” Luke asks, and it should sound a lot less innocent than it does. Coming from anyone else, the question would be loaded, tied to something; Luke means nothing else but what he said at face value.

And the truth is, Ashton _does_ think what they do is wrong. He doesn’t need his mother to tell him that anymore; he internalized it long ago as a child. But when he’s with Luke, he can almost believe this is exactly where he is supposed to be.

“Ash?” Luke says softly.

“No,” Ashton says, exhaling over the top of Luke’s head and gripping onto him a little tighter. “This feels right.”

 

* * *

 

_December 2009_

The first time someone finds about them, it’s a mistake, and of course, it’s Michael.

It’s the best person to find out, because Michael’s queer, so there’s no question of him supporting them, and he’s their best friend, but Ashton would have wanted to tell him, rather than have him find out how he did.

It’s getting close to Christmas, and Ashton’s spent every day of his break at Luke’s house. It’s almost a year since their first real kiss, and Ashton is feeling particularly festive this year as a result. If he shoves Luke under the mistletoe at Michael’s family’s Christmas party out of sight of everyone else, well, nobody can blame him. There’s a lot more unjustified kissing, just because they have so much free time on their hands and that’s the best way they can think of spending it.

And of course, when Michael’s with them, they do their best to act normally. But they were going to fuck up at some point, and, well, they might as well fuck it up with Michael instead of someone else.

Michael leaves Luke’s room for maybe, like, five minutes, and Luke can’t help but tilt his face up to kiss Ashton (well, he’s already on his lap, they might as well), and although Ashton smiles, he lets him do it, kissing him back chastely. Of course, Michael returns earlier than planned, and the door is open, and they have no idea how long he actually stands in the doorway before he clears his throat, and then Luke is tumbling off Ashton’s lap and onto the floor, covering his mouth to hide the moisture over his lips and making a small whimpering noise. Ashton has simply frozen, jaw slack as he stares at Michael.

“This is,” Michael starts, and reconsiders. “Not really a surprise at all.”

“What?” Luke says, startled.

“I mean, no two straight boys—not that I ever for a second thought Luke was straight—hold hands while they’re walking in public,” Michael says, gradually relaxing.

“Whaaaat,” Ashton mumbles. “We do not do that.”

“Oh, you thought I didn’t see,” Michael says with a nod. “Yeah, and the matching necklaces? I mean, you were either exceptionally good friends or you were super gay for each other. Ever since you guys started acting weird last year, I started thinking about it. I kinda wish you would have told me, though. Now I have to pretend I didn’t ever see you guys kiss, because, gross.”

Ashton flushes particularly hard at that. “I’m sorry,” he says. The guilt is creeping back, creating pressure on his chest. “Are you mad?”

Michael shrugs. “I wish you’d have told me,” he repeats, “but I’m not mad.”

Luke scoots forward and wraps his arms around Michael’s leg. “Good, because I still love you.”

Michael smiles grudgingly. “Well, don’t be too flattered. If I was mad at you I wouldn’t have any friends at all.”

“Dick,” Ashton says hotly, but stands up and hugs Michael too. “We still love you just as much, you know.”

“Of course you do,” Michael says with a shrug. “I’m fucking lovable, that’s what I am.”

 

* * *

 

_January 2010_

As always, Luke dreads the new school year a little more than everyone else, because it means more bruises and watching his back, but this year, he’s especially nervous. Ashton’s nervous, too; it’s a change for all of them.

Ashton doesn’t know how, but Luke has obtained a uniform skirt to replace his pants. Luke’s parents had a whole fight with the school to let him wear it, and when they found that there was nothing in the rules they could use to prevent it, Luke came charging over to Ashton’s house to break the good news. Ashton hopes his mother doesn’t find out, or he could be in big trouble.

The first day of school, Luke waits for Ashton on his porch. Ashton walks over and Luke stands with his brothers. For the first time, the four of them don’t match. Ashton, Jack and Ben have donned their red blazers and ties with their black pants. Luke, however, wears his blazer and tie with the blue plaid uniform skirt. And God, he looks so _cute_ in his too-big blazer and preppy skirt. He’s even got on a red bow to match. Ashton might possibly keel over and die.

“You look so good,” Ashton breathes in his ear, and Luke blushes and smiles before they start on their walk. “Wait till Michael sees.”

Luke purposely walks with his shoulders squared, as if to ward off anyone who might come for him. Ashton stands close by him, ready to strike. The stakes are high this year, but if Luke’s willing to take it on, then hell, Ashton will too.

When they reach the school, Ashton’s immediately aware of the turned heads and confused stares. He and Michael move in to shoulder Luke closer. Luke doesn’t look anywhere but ahead. Ashton wants to cover him entirely, shield him from the closed mindedness that ostracizes him already, but to cover him would be to cover his skirt, and Luke wants that to be seen. He wants to make a statement, to be as pretty as he wants. Who is Ashton to get in his way?

“Hey, shithead,” Jack says abruptly a few feet away, slapping a boy’s cheek lightly. “What are you looking at, huh?”

The boy is looking at Luke like he’s never seen him before, although Ashton knows he’s been to their house, has seen Luke a million times when he came to study with Jack. But if kids had a hard time accepting Luke when he just liked pretty hair things and pastel pink, then they’re in for a storm now.

“Yeah, he’s wearing a skirt,” Jack says, louder this time in an attempt to reach everyone who’s staring. Now that he’s Year 11, he carries more power than ever, although he was always the most popular out of all his brothers. Still, he’s bigger this year, and almost top of the school, practically a man, and nobody’s going to fuck around with him. “What, you never seen one before? You fuck with him, you fuck with me, you hear? Ya burnt.”

“Quiet down,” Luke murmurs, turning the color of his uniform. Jack ignores him and wildly waves around his middle fingers until the crowd disperses, before shouldering his backpack and sniffing.

“Nobody is gonna touch you,” Jack says. “It’s just a goddamn skirt. All this fuss over clothes.” He straightens the lapels of his blazer. “Get to class, you’re going to be late.” He signals his friends with a nod of his head, and they take off for class. Luke sighs and fidgets with his hands.

“Go on,” Ashton says, nudging him towards class. “Jack’s right. You’re going to be fine. You have all of us to protect you.”

Luke smiles weakly and nods, turning and walking towards class. Ashton sighs and watches him go.

“He’ll be fine,” Michael says calmly. “All grown up, wearing skirts to school. Who’da thunk.”

“We’re still gonna get him from his last class, right?” Ashton has Luke’s schedule faithfully written down on his hand. “Just to make sure.”

“Yeah,” Michael agrees. “Let’s get to class.”

 

* * *

 

After school, Ashton is growing frantic. Luke isn’t anywhere to be found, and he’s not answering his cell phone. Michael and Jack haven’t seen him, either, and, well, nobody has seen Ben since this morning (“Year 12, thinks he’s the shit or something,” Jack explains helpfully).

Michael sprints into the hallway Ashton is scanning down, screaming for him to come see. Ashton is paralyzed until Michael physically takes him by the arm and yanks him around the corner to the next hallway. Ashton hears it before he sees it, the harsh rattle of something being slammed against the lockers, and shouting. His eyes lock onto Calum, who’s filled out during the Christmas break, apparently (or at least he’s finally filled out enough for it to be noticeable), holding another footy kid up against the lockers by the collar of his pristine white uniform shirt. Ashton is ready to jostle Michael and make him move along, to keep looking for Luke.

“So your boyfriend’s a musclehead,” Ashton says, irritated. “So what?”

“Listen,” Michael hisses.

“...and I don’t want to ever see that again. Think you’re the man because you shoved some kid inside his own locker? You’re not cool, you’re not strong. You’re a fucking piece of shit.”

“Don’t tell me,” Ashton says, face falling. “Already? It’s just the first day.”

“But look at him go,” Michael says proudly. “That’s my boy.”

“Did you put him up to it? Because it doesn’t count if you did.”

“No! You’re such an asshole.”

Calum’s about done with the lecture, and he tosses the boy to the side. The crowd draws back, and Ashton moves closer with Michael, trying to hear better. Calum knocks lightly on Luke’s locker and says, “Can you give me your combination so I can get you out?” and puts his ear patiently to the metal to listen. In a few moments, Calum puts in the combination and opens the locker, gently pulling out a rather wide-eyed, flushed Luke. With another spiteful look towards the boy who shoved him in, Calum nudges Luke towards Michael and Ashton, who are smiling and gawking respectively.

“Think this is yours,” he says, and Luke gratefully picks his school bag up from where it’s fallen and hurries to safety.

Michael rushes forward and throws his arms around Calum. Ashton can’t hear what he says, but he can see Michael’s lips moving beside Calum’s ear, and Calum blushing right after. Michael jogs back and Ashton raises his eyebrows.

“That was interesting,” he says. “Was Calum actually blushing? I thought when jocks talked about their feelings, they just grunted a bunch.”

“Okay, shut the fuck up,” Michael snaps, a little fierier than expected. “Admit it. He’s nice. All on his own. How many other jocks take Luke’s side over their friends’? Huh? Fucking nobody takes Luke’s side, ‘cept us. You should at least be happy I like someone who likes Luke too. Say it, Ashton, say it.” And Michael glares at him until he relents.

“Okay,” Ashton mumbles. “I was wrong.”

“Hello, I just got shoved into my own locker,” Luke says nervously, playing with the hem of his skirt. “Can someone take me home?”

“Say it,” Michael says, lifting his chin.

“I’m happy for you,” Ashton says, flushing. “I am, Mike. I’m sorry. I didn’t know you liked him _that_ much. And I am glad that he helped Luke.”

“Speaking of which, I want to go home,” Luke says petulantly. “Are you guys done?”

He’s clenching his jaw tightly, which Ashton knows he does when he’s afraid or shaken up. “We’re done, kiddo,” Michael says, nodding at Ashton with a thumbs up. “Everything’s good.”

 

* * *

 

_February 2010_

They’re in the fields, lying among the daisies. Ashton is flat on his back and Luke is beside him, head resting just on Ashton’s shoulder, nestled in the crook of his arm. Ashton likes this, when the sun is warming them all the way through and not a single person can see them. He can keep his fingers tangled in Luke’s like this, blink lazily in the sunlight, lean right over and kiss his pretty boyfriend. It’s got him smiling up at the sky.

“You’re smiling,” Luke comments, looking over at him.

“Yeah, Captain Obvious.”

“I _like_ when you smile,” Luke protests. “You need to do it more.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Ashton says, although his smile doesn’t falter. Luke rolls over on top of Ashton and folds his hands on top of his chest, putting his chin on top of them. He looks at Ashton with bright eyes, content. He takes one hand and strokes Ashton’s cheek, trailing his fingers up and down his face. Ashton giggles, turning his face to avoid the tickling touch. “What are you doing?”

“I’m trying to see your face better,” Luke says, and he looks so serious, a piece of art in the light, rubbing over Ashton’s nose and cheek and jaw with the gentlest of hands. His face is close to Ashton’s, and he doesn’t laugh as he runs his fingers over Ashton’s skin. “Someday, I’m going to be able to draw you right.”

Stilling his hands on Ashton’s jaw, one on each side now, he leans forward and kisses Ashton. Ashton shuts his eyes and brings his arms up to hold Luke, one carding through his soft blond hair and the other resting on the small of his back. He thinks for a second that he cannot live without Luke, that without moments like this, his life would be so flat. There is comfort in being able to call Luke his own, in knowing Luke would call him the same. He will only ever love Luke. He may not even be 16, but he’s sure of that.

“I’ll get it right,” Luke says, and withdraws, settling his head on Ashton’s chest and sighing as he listens to the steady thump of his heart. “I know your face even when I can’t see it.”

Ashton doesn’t open his eyes, afraid sometimes that if he did, it would all turn out to be a fantasy—too good to be true.

 

* * *

 

_July 2010_

The plan was for all three of them to go to ice skating the Friday when they get off for Term 2 hols, which is always fun, because Michael is awful at it, and of course Luke isn’t too good either, clumsy as he is. Ashton’s the only one who can stay on his feet, which means the other two are always hanging off his arms and dragging him down onto the ice. A few scrapes and a sore tailbone later, they’re usually still laughing and making fun of each other for being graceless rhinos.

Of course, things don’t always go to plan, which is why Ashton’s sitting here and listening to Michael give some longwinded story about how he’s skipping out and attending his first party ever and to please please please forgive him.

“You can’t be serious,” Luke says on one end of the call. “We’re supposed to drag Ashton down together. It’s no fun alone.”

“Sorry, Luke,” Michael says on the other end. “You just have to pull hard, you know. Just grab onto his hand with both of yours and let your feet slip out, and your weight should be enough. You know he won’t let go of you.”

“Excuse me, but can you stop telling Luke how to kill me?” Ashton interjects. “Michael, please come with us. There’ll be more parties.”

“No,” Michael says, and there’s a pause on the other line.

“Yes,” Luke counters uncertainly.

“Calum invited me,” Michael says, almost a whisper. Ashton suspects he’s probably blushing. “I already said I’d go.”

“With him?” Ashton presses. “Like, as a couple?”

“I don’t know, he just—asked if I wanted to come.”

“Oh my god, it’s real,” Luke says dramatically. “I’ll give you a pass this time, but next time, Ashton is going down.”

“Does that mean you’re not taking me down tonight?” Ashton says, perking up. “I love coming home in one piece.”

“I gotta go,” Michael says. “I’ll see you guys later, I promise.”

“You’re gonna tell us all about it,” Ashton adds in quickly. “That’s the price you pay.”

“Yeah, yeah, alright. Bye.”

They all say their goodbyes and hang up. Ashton sighs, shoving his phone in his hoodie pocket, and heads to the front door. The house is quiet; Lauren must be in her room, and Harry’s playing on the computer. His hand is on the doorknob when his mother speaks from behind him.

“Where are you going?”

Ashton turns around, his heart speeding up. “To Luke’s,” he says, wiping his quickly dampening hands on his jeans.

She purses her lips, her arms folded. She looks tired, or maybe it’s the bad lighting; he wonders if she’ll ever recover her youth. Ashton can’t help but look at her with a sort of sad sympathy. Still, he feels his heart under pressure at seeing the woman who raised him in such a sorry state. “I don’t want you to go. That boy, he’s—”

“Don’t,” Ashton says, clenching his jaw and feeling the pressure ease. She makes it so easy. “We’re going ice skating.”

“I don’t want you seeing him anymore.” She looks at the ground instead of at Ashton. “Boys don’t wear skirts. It’s the work of the devil, is what it is. He needs help.”

“I’m going to Luke’s,” Ashton says abruptly, yanking the door open. “He can wear whatever the fuck he wants.”

It’s the first time she’s brought up Luke’s new clothes (although really, they were just more careful before), which surprises Ashton. But she hardly pays attention anymore, and when he goes to church with her, it’s out of loyalty, not any faith he feels. And if God does exist, Ashton knows that there’s something of him in Luke.

She won’t ground him when he gets back; she’ll ignore him for a few days and pay extra attention to Lauren and Harry, which they’ll love. They spend some weekends at Warwick’s, leaving Ashton the only one around the house, and splitting their time makes them desperate for their mother’s affection. Ashton could go with them, but he feels tied to this house, to his mother.

For tonight, he is happy to slip away next door.

Ben lets him in and walks into the kitchen. “Luke’s just upstairs,” he tells him. “He’s getting ready.”

“For what,” Ashton scoffs. “We’re just ice skating.”

“Kid wants to look pretty for you,” Ben says with a smirk. Ashton fidgets with the bottom of his jacket, swallowing hard. “Hey, you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Ashton is unconsciously frowning. “Year 12, right? How is it?”

Ben leans against the kitchen counter. “Good, mostly. It’s a real laugh. You’re Year 10 this year, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Luke’s really happy to have you, you know.” Ben says it so casually, as if it’s something they always talk about. Ashton likes Ben; he’s quiet and placid, and seems to have a good sense of what is going on around him. “Seems even happier lately. Wonder why.”

Oh. Ashton swallows hard. “Wonder why,” he repeats.

Luke bounds down the stairs, always saving Ashton. He’s wearing a pale blue skirt, one of the ones Michael gave him a long time ago, and a knit jumper. Ashton feels unbearably underdressed compared to him. Is this a date? Since Michael copped out, he supposed it is. The first official date, and he didn’t even realize it.

“Wow,” Ashton says, rubbing his hands over his jeans. “You’re awfully well dressed for someone who’s going to fall so many times.”

“I am not.”

“Are too, and you’re gonna rip up those pretty knees too.”

Luke rolls his eyes, folding his arms. “Can we go? Where’s Mum?”

“I’m driving you, kid,” Ben says. “Mum’s at a district meeting. You ready to go? D’you wanna take a scarf, Lukey? It’s cold, remember.”

Luke pouts at his brother’s nagging. “I’m warm enough,” he protests, chewing on his lip.

“Go get your scarf, or you’ll catch a cold,” Ben chides.

Luke pulls a face, but grabs it from the linen closet. He doesn’t put it on, just holds it as they get in the car and Ben starts it up. Ashton thinks out of the blue that he should learn to drive, too. That way he can drive Harry and Lauren where they need to go, take Luke on dates—

“You guys have been awfully close lately,” Ben says. “Why, just the other day I swear you were holding hands at lunch. And I said to myself, that’s strange. They haven’t done that since Luke started secondary! Funny, that.”

“Funny,” Luke squeaks.

“Right. And here we are. Luke, wanna tell me anything?”

Luke takes a deep breath and grips the edge of the leather seat. “You won’t tell anyone, right? Not even Jack.”

“Why would I tell Jack?” Ben smiles to himself. “Keep your little secret. Have fun on your date and call me when you want to be picked up.”

Luke’s whole body seems to relax. He beams, so widely it looks painful. “Thanks, Ben,” he says, and is so happy he simply melts into Ashton and hides his hot face in his neck. Ashton smiles and leans his head against the top of Luke’s.

The rink is packed, since all the kids in the area got out today. They pay for their skates and ask for them at the rental counter, Luke still buzzing from the car ride. Luke orders three sizes smaller than Ashton; Ashton’s growing steadily now, feet included, and leaving Luke in the dust. He doesn’t mind. Being the bigger boyfriend has its benefits.

It has its downsides, though. It means Luke is now begging him to tie his skates for him because he can’t get it tight enough. Luke holds onto the edge of the bench and clicks the toes of his skates together while he waits for Ashton to tie his own. The icy air is bringing color into Luke’s pale cheeks, and his fingers are nearly frozen as he pulls Luke’s foot into his lap to tie his skates.

They’re the pretty white kind that figure skaters use, a stark contrast to Ashton’s hockey-style skates. Of course, Ashton would expect nothing less. “How tight do you want them?”

“Tight tight tight,” Luke says, wiggling his foot.

“Alright, stop moving around.” Ashton bends over Luke’s foot and yanks the laces as tight as he can, looping them around the ankle once for good measure before tying it off and shaking out his cold, stinging hands. “Tight enough?”

“Now the other,” Luke says, putting his other foot up on Ashton’s lap.

Ashton smiles and begins working on this one to keep up with Luke’s imperious demands, tying it as tightly as he can despite the pain in his frozen hands. He rubs his hands together to get the circulation going again. “Good?”

“Now it’s tighter than the other one,” Luke whines.

Ashton rolls his eyes. “Okay, do you want me to loosen it?”

“No, tighten the other.”

After a few minutes of back and forth, Luke finally deems his skates ready to go, and they stand up on their skates and hobble awkwardly across the floor towards the entrance to the rink. Ashton’s knuckles brush the hip of Luke’s skirt. “Ready?” he asks, pausing at the opening. Luke nods determinedly, but waits for Ashton to go first.

Ashton takes the first step onto the ice, gripping onto the wall uncertainly as he stands, slightly bowlegged, and tries to simply keep his balance. Luke is quick to follow, which makes it so hard to keep straight, because he’s wobbling and pulling at Ashton’s hand.

“You got this,” Ashton encourages anyway. “There you go. Hold onto the wall.”

“I want to hold onto you,” Luke protests. “You’ll keep me safe, right?”

“Course I will,” Ashton assures him warmly, although he has his own doubts about his ability. “Let’s go slowly. Remember to move your feet outward and shift your weight. Your mistake last time was trying to walk like you’re on solid ground.”

Luke tries to follow Ashton’s directions, looking down at his skates. He makes some unsteady moves, before his feet slip and he’s gripping at Ashton’s sleeve and lurching forward. Ashton pulls him up by the back of his jumper, laughing, “Easy, not so fast.” Ashton moves in front of Luke, skating backwards and praying he doesn’t fall. “Hold my hands for a bit. I’ll pull you around. Try to move how I told you.”

“Okay,” Luke says, putting his trust in Ashton. Ashton skates back, pulling Luke along. Luke’s feet stay completely still as he glides along, smiling coyly up at Ashton, who smiles back. It’s freezing out here on the ice, but Ashton just feels warm.

“Alright?” Ashton says, picking up speed. Luke’s eyes widen.

“Slow down,” he says, startled. “I’m gonna fall!”

Ashton lets go of one hand and skates to Luke’s side, keeping his distance while Luke shrieks and stumbles, falling forwards. He hits the ice with a grimace and Ashton circles around him until he comes to a stop, unable to repress a laugh. “You weren’t moving your feet.”

Luke sits up and pouts at his feet. When Ashton isn’t looking, Luke grabs onto his hand and yanks hard, until Ashton is sitting on his ass next to him, and then they’re both laughing. “Karma,” Luke says smugly.

“Let’s get up, my ass is getting wet,” Ashton says, getting to his feet and pulling Luke up too. “Okay, just hold my hand. I won’t let you fall.”

“That’s what you said last time.”

Ashton ignores that and begins moving forward, hand in hand with Luke. “Doing great, babe,” he says. Luke looks like a baby giraffe, all wobbly and knobbly knees. Ashton loves every bit of him.

“I think I got it,” Luke says, loosening his grip on Ashton’s hand. “I can do it.”

Ashton lets go and skates alongside him as he glides, albeit with very little coordination. There’s an awed look on his face. “Ashton! Look, I’m doing it. Whoosh whoosh. See?”

Ashton picks up his speed to keep up, laughing. “Yeah, I see. Good job. I told you you could do it.”

“This is fun,” Luke says brightly. “Look at me.”

Ashton can’t _stop_ looking at Luke. He’s all these pretty colors, blue eyes and marble white skin and red cheeks, pink nail polish and blue skirt. Ashton wishes he could draw half as well as Luke, because to paint Luke, that would be an achievement. That would be something to sing about.

His focus is broken when Luke yells, somewhat ahead of him now, “Ashton! Help! Too fast, too fast!” with his knees locked, gliding to his doom. He seems to have completely forgotten any advice Ashton might have given him and is speeding towards the wall, arms outstretched.

“Grab the wall,” Ashton says, speeding up to try and catch him before he hits. Luke makes contact with the wall anyway, with so much force his skates slip backwards, and then he’s on his stomach on the ice, groaning. Ashton comes to a harsh stop in front of him and crouches, offering his hands to Luke. Luke smiles sheepishly and allows himself to be hauled up. Ashton pulls him in, arms around his waist. Luke reaches up to rest his hands on Ashton’s shoulders, sighing.

“I don’t think I’m much good at this,” Luke admits.

“It’s alright, you looked cute trying,” Ashton assures him, leaning down to kiss him. Luke smiles halfheartedly and kisses him back. Ashton grips onto the back of Luke’s white jumper, trying to absorb him in any way he can. He pulls back when he notices a young mother and her daughter watching across the ice. The girl points in their direction, and the mother bends down to answer her.

“Can we just go drink hot chocolate?” Luke asks. “I’m getting sore from all this falling.”

Ashton laughs. “Come on, let’s go.”

They get off the ice and return to their shoes. Luke groans in relief as he slips back into his comfortable white Vans, and Ashton takes their skates back to the counter. Luke slips an arm around Ashton’s waist, Ashton’s around his shoulders, and they walk to the food shack. Ashton orders a hot chocolate for both of them (“With whipped cream, _please_ ,” Luke adds), and tells Luke to go find somewhere to sit. He waits by the counter as the worker fills the cups.

After a minute, he feels something tapping his leg. He looks down to see the little girl who was staring earlier. “Hi,” she says, smiling widely.

Ashton looks around for her mother, who is watching a short distance away in line to get food. He turns back to the girl, kneeling to get on her level. “Hi,” he says back, smiling.

“Is that your boyfriend?” she whispers confidentially, pointing at Luke, who isn’t looking.

Ashton rubs his palms over his thighs. “Yeah, he is.”

“He’s pretty,” she says, beaming.

“The prettiest,” Ashton agrees, eyes twinkling. She scurries back off to her mother, and Ashton is filled with wonder for a moment at this child, not yet up to his waist, and with no concept of gender roles. The hot chocolate comes back, steaming hot, and Ashton grabs it distractedly and carries it over to the table Luke’s chosen out.

“What took you so long,” Luke complains half heartedly, accepting his hot chocolate and taking a big sip. The whipped cream dots his button nose and upper lip, and Ashton grins as he kisses him. He tastes sweet now, of sugar.

“Little girl wanted to tell me how pretty my boyfriend was,” Ashton explains.

Luke giggles and covers his face with his hands. “She didn’t.”

“But she did.” Ashton thinks that someday, ten years or so, they’ll have a little girl just like that, no doubt in his mind. And maybe she’ll have Luke’s bright, curious eyes, or maybe she’ll have his light curls. Maybe by then, Australia will have legalized gay marriage, and maybe Luke will have him forever.

“You’re dreaming again,” Luke says, the steam of his hot chocolate taking away the frost-burned look of his cheeks.

Ashton thinks with Luke, _everything_ feels like a dream.

 

* * *

 

Early the next morning, Ashton wakes up to a slew of texts from Luke, who has caught a cold and isn’t allowed to leave his bed. Ashton knows Ben has probably already berated Luke for not wearing his scarf and dressing more warmly, which leaves him the job of supportive boyfriend. Ashton doesn’t mind at all.

He slips out of the room after making sure that Harry’s still asleep, avoiding all the spots on the floor that he knows will creak. He’s glad to find that nobody else seems to be awake this morning, and leaves the house with nary a note to explain his absence. It takes him less than a minute to cross lawns and knock on the front door.

Liz answers it with a knowing smile. “He’s upstairs,” she says immediately. “Don’t you dare let him get out of that bed or I’ll have your head.”

“Yes, Mrs. Hemmings,” Ashton says meekly. “Do you need anything?”

“Just remind him to drink his tea. Go on, he’s been waiting for you.”

Ashton smiles gratefully and hurries up the stairs. Luke, as reported, is lying in his bed, looking rather pathetic and pouty, a pile of used tissues next to him. He’s got his sketchbook in his lap, eraser shavings scattered over his bedspread. “Ash,” he whines. “I’m bored. Mum won’t let me get out of bed.”

“Your mum knows what she’s doing,” Ashton says firmly. “And I’m under strict instruction to keep you here. What’re you drawing?”

Luke flashes it to Ashton, making a face. “I was trying to draw Michael and Calum together,” he says, “but like my immune system, my drawing is failing me.”

“Looks alright to me.” Ashton peers closer. Luke’s drawing is gaining depth and detail.  He knows how hard Luke works at it. He’s starting to use color pencils, easing out of black and whites, although Luke often does it that way anyway if all he has around him is a pencil. But he got a nice set of colors for his birthday this year, and he’s been enamored with it ever since.

“I just thought I’d try it,” he says with a sigh. “Maybe give it to Michael if it turned out alright. Think I’m just not feeling up to it, I can’t picture them clearly enough.”

“You should be resting,” Ashton says, pulling the covers up over Luke. “You’re just going to stress yourself out.”

“Wanna be with you,” Luke whines. “‘M not stressed, I promise.”

Ashton chuckles, sitting on the edge of his bed. “Wonder what Michael’s up to.”

“We’ll call him later,” Luke says. He makes grabby hands at Ashton, urging him closer.

“What, want kisses or something?”

“No, I’ll get you sick,” Luke sighs. “Just—want you closer.”

Ashton obliges, sitting closer to Luke’s face. His head is turned towards Ashton on the pillow, so obviously under the weather to Ashton, who knows him back to front. His eyes already look tired and not quite as bright, and he’s a bit more subdued. “What’ll you do with me?”

Luke sits up and nudges the side of Ashton’s head, signaling for him to turn it away. Ashton does, feeling Luke’s weight shift behind him. Luke’s arms drape over his shoulders and he rests his chin on Ashton’s shoulder, sighing heavily. “I’ll just hold you here,” he replies. “So I can be close to you without getting you sick.”

 

* * *

 

Michael doesn’t talk to either of them until a few days later, when he refuses to say anything about his night until they’re sitting in the fields alone together. Luke is bundled up in several jumpers, the stipulation for him being allowed outside in the winter while still recovering from a cold. Ashton scoops him into his lap, trying to make sure he’s as warm as possible; Luke leans against Ashton, cradled in Ashton’s welcoming arms.

“Alright, spill,” Ashton says. “How was the party? Everything you thought it would be?”

“Did you get drunk?” Luke adds in.

Michael shakes his head slowly. “There was alcohol, though. I didn’t drink it is all. It was—loud, there were tons of people, mostly older kids. I didn’t know all of them.”

“What about Calum, did you guys hang out, or what?”

There’s an uncomfortable pause. Michael plays with the stalks of grass by his feet, and Ashton looks at Luke uneasily. Luke’s eyes are focused on Michael’s face. “We kissed,” Michael says finally.

Luke jolts in Ashton’s lap. “That’s good! That’s awesome! What, what’s wrong?”

“I thought you’d be over the moon,” Ashton adds, puzzled. “Why aren’t you?”

“Because it’s not that simple,” Michael says flatly.

“Was he a bad kisser?” Luke asks, reaching out to touch Michael’s knee to offer comfort.

“No, he was—” Michael sighs. “We were upstairs in a bedroom, and we were sitting on the edge, and he was so quiet when he said, _Michael, I really like you_. I told him I really liked him too, and I asked if I could kiss him. He was so afraid. He was shaking the whole time, he couldn’t stop afterwards, he kept saying he was fucked. What was I supposed to do?” Michael shrugs, looking at his green-stained fingers. “He was a good kisser, though,” Michael adds softly. “Kissed hard and eager. Just hasn’t talked to me since.”

“Michael, it’s not your fault,” Luke says, squirming out of Ashton’s lap to sit on his knees before Michael. “I’m sure he’s trying to process it. It’s a big deal for him, yeah?”

“He has so much to lose,” Michael says. “Footy scholarships, reputation—he doesn’t even know how he’s going to tell his parents. The only one who knows is his older sister. And me, I guess. It’s too much weight to carry. I don’t want to pull him down.”

“Give it a few days,” Luke insists. “Of course it’s a big deal for him. Let him come to terms with it. It’s gonna work out okay, I promise.”

“I don’t want him to lose _anything_ because of me. I won’t do that to him.” Michael glares at his hands. “For fuck’s sake, I’m fucking scared.”

Luke kisses his cheek and smiles. “You guys are going to figure it out.”

“Yeah, probably.” Michael lies down, resting his hands atop his chest. “Sometimes I want what you guys have. You must be soulmates, because nobody fits together like you do. You were fucking made for each other.”

 

* * *

 

_August 2010_

If Ashton thought that they were in the safe zone for the rest of the year, that the old locker room pranks would have lost their allure, he was wrong. Then again, he always is.

And as always, it feels less like a prank and more like something meant to tear Luke apart.

Ashton’s been on the receiving end his fair share; hidden boxers, a slap on the ass, coming back to find his clothes soaking after phys ed, he’s been there. It’s the kind of harmless jokes all the boys partake in, especially the upperclassmen, but with Luke, it goes too far—always, too far.

By the time Ashton gets there, the locker room has cleared out. He runs past rows and rows of empty lockers to the very back, and that’s where he finds Luke, sitting on the bench in a pair of sweatpants that aren’t his. There’s a shiny bruise on his jaw and a long gash spanning from above his eyebrow to his hairline. His lip is split, and he’s holding a bloody paper towel to the fissure. He’s looking straight at the ground and sitting rigidly, but Ashton can see the trembling in his hands when he pulls at the soft material of the sweatpants by his knee.

In a surprising turn of events, Calum is sitting right next to him, an arm around Luke’s shoulder, murmuring something Ashton can’t hear. Upon Ashton’s arrival, Calum looks up and acknowledges his presence.

“Ash,” Calum says, nodding. “Do you wanna take over?”

Ashton sits on the bench next to Luke and pulls him close, something so familiar he doesn’t even think about it, but Luke is unresponsive and stiff, and he doesn’t move his head at all. Ashton bends his head to press a kiss to Luke’s cheek, rocking him. “Hey, babe,” he says, forgetting momentarily that Calum is there. “What’s wrong?”

Luke doesn’t respond, just shakes his head slowly and presses his face into Ashton’s shoulder, a silent rejection. Ashton watches Calum over the top of Luke’s head, who hasn’t gotten up. “Can you find Michael?” Ashton asks, pulling Luke onto his lap. “He should take Luke home.”

“Sure,” Calum says. As he stands, Ashton catches sight of purple stretching over his knuckles and purses his lips, processing it. He slips out of the locker room and he waits for his footsteps to fade away before he starts talking.

“Luke, babe,” he says, pulling Luke onto his lap. It’s awkward; the bench is too narrow, the lockers are digging into his back, but it’s habit, and it’s necessary right now. Ashton can feel dampness soaking through his shirt where Luke’s eyes are and he begins to stroke Luke’s shaking back. “What happened, can you tell me?”

Luke shakes his head and brings his hand up to grip Ashton’s back, fingers digging in hard. “Don’t make me,” he says, muffled. “I don’t—I can’t—Ash.” His breathing is shallow and uneven, and he lifts his head to swipe away some blood with his paper towel. His eyes are swollen and red-rimmed; they’re dull, all the normal brightness washed away. Ashton can feel him shaking still, although it’s starting to subside. And he knows that if Luke had only gotten roughed up a bit, he wouldn’t be in this state.

“Shh,” Ashton says soothingly, rubbing his back. “You’re safe. I’m here, I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

Luke’s sob hitches in his throat, and he struggles to breathe. Ashton feels despair deep in his gut, almost to where his bones feel weak. Luke is like a baby bird, tiny and fragile and helpless. By the time Michael and Calum return together, Luke is still and silent, and breathes softly against his shirt.

“Take him home,” Ashton says quietly, looking up at Michael. “Will you, Michael?”

“What about you?” Michael presses.

“I gotta turn something in,” he says. “And my books are still in my locker, and I think Luke just needs to go home.”

Michael nods. He hauls Luke to his feet and puts an arm around his waist and begins to guide him out of the locker room. Ashton sits for a moment, his heart heavy in his chest, and Calum watches them go. When they’re gone, Ashton finally rises to his feet, grabbing his fallen backpack and making for the exit. He glances at Calum, who stands still, clueless. “Hey,” he says. “Come with?”

Calum nods and follows Ashton out the door. They walk towards Ashton’s math class, where he slides his assignment into the folder taped to the door. Ashton grabs his books from his locker and stuffs them in his bag. They don’t talk until they’re walking out the gates, a few lingering students scattered around.

“What happened?” Ashton finally asks.

“Do you want to know?” Calum counters, shoving his hands in the pocket and grimacing. And Ashton really doesn’t want to know, but he has to.

“I think so.”

Calum sighs. “It was that damned skirt,” he says, although the way he says it isn’t accusing or disgusted—it’s just sad. “One of the guys thought it would be a funny joke to make a grab at Luke under the skirt. Find out if he was really a guy down there, is what he said. Luke panicked and pushed back, and the guy just grabbed his hair and slammed it into the lockers, cut his forehead on one of the latches. Threw a few punches, then touched him anyway after he stopped fighting back.” Calum takes a deep breath. “Then I threw a few punches, and the only reason I ducked out of a referral is because Luke was bleeding all over the place and you know the teachers play favorites.”

Ashton feels his whole body grow cold. “Holy fuck,” he says softly.

“So I gave him my sweatpants and texted you,” he finishes. “I’m sorry. I wish I’d just paid more attention, maybe I could have headed it off.”

“You did more than I could ask.”

“‘S not fair, though, is it,” Calum says. “Happens all the time to him, doesn’t it? Stuff like this, I mean. He’s brave.”

“I think so, yeah,” Ashton agrees.

There’s a soft sigh from Calum. “It’s so fucked up, what they did. I don’t know how you guys stand it.”

“It’s hard,” Ashton says. “There’s no lesson to be learned, either. It hasn’t made any of us better people. It’s just hard.”

“I’m sorry,” Calum adds. “No way to sugarcoat that, I guess.”

Ashton knows he’s right.

“I know what Luke means to you,” Calum says out of the blue. “Michael says you’re together, he says you guys look at each other like you’re in love, you should hear him talk about you—and I see it. You love him, don’t you?”

Ashton swallows thickly. “I do, yeah. Michael told you that?”

“He talks about you guys a lot,” Calum admits. “I think he wants something like it.” Calum seems to shrink. “He wants more than I can give him, sometimes.”

“Do you love Michael?”

“I think I could,” Calum says, stopping at the corner. “But there’s too much to think about.” Calum draws in a breath so deep it must hurt, his eyes pained. “I don’t know if I’m right for him.”

Ashton feels sympathy for Calum, who must be overwhelmed; he’s clearly pushing himself to his limits, trying to make this work, and balancing school and sports and this new, frightening development must be exhausting. “It’s alright to take it slow,” Ashton tells him. “Michael will understand.”

“I guess I’m just not brave enough to do this,” Calum says softly. “I’m not brave at all.”

“I think you’re brave,” Ashton argues. “For even trying to be with Michael. Being afraid doesn’t mean you can’t also be brave.”

Calum smiles weakly. “I just don’t think I’m very brave.” He turns away. “I gotta go this way. I’ll look out for Luke, I promise.”

 

* * *

 

_September 2010_

Despite Calum’s disclosed misgivings, he swings by their lunch table quite often, and Michael seems to perk up. Ashton knows they must be sneaking around, as if it isn’t obvious when Michael stays after school or comes to lunch late with swollen lips and mussed hair. Apart from that, Michael doesn’t tell him much.

Luke is working ever harder, he assures them—they haven’t seen any of his work recently, but he can’t exactly paint at their lunch table. Ashton hadn’t even known he was painting yet, and he’s only seen his color pencil work, which is subpar to Luke’s greyscale. Ashton thinks his monochromatic pencil drawings are special and beautiful—breathtaking, even. He knows Luke’s been bumped up an extra level this year, skipping a year of art teaching he has surpassed.

Today, Calum appears at the beginning of lunch, unlike most of the time when he stops by only to visit Michael for a few minutes and catch up. After a furtive glance around, he sits on Michael’s side of the table.

“Hey,” Michael greets him, beaming. “What brings you here?”

Calum shrugs indifferently, a bit of red in his cheeks. “Friend problems.”

“Do tell.”

“It’s nothing. You should know by now that jocks aren’t the most tolerant people. Maybe I just don’t want to listen to them make stupid offensive jokes. Maybe I egged one of their cars and they’re mad at me. Who knows.”

“Did you really?” Luke snorts. “Right on.”

Calum smiles dryly. “Well, what can I say. I stand by you guys.”

“Wait, were they shit talking us? Is that why?” Michael says eagerly. “Fuck yeah. I wanna egg them next time.”

Calum rolls his eyes. “I appreciate the sentiment, but if you do that, they’ll crush you. If I do it, they’ll just be mildly pissed for a few days.”

“You’re always welcome with us,” Ashton says.

“Hey, now that you’re all here,” Luke speaks up, “the art showcase is this weekend. If you guys are free, you should come.”

The question is mostly for Calum’s ears. Ashton is guaranteed to go, and Michael is almost never busy, so he’s got them cornered. Calum, on the other hand, is the wild card. Ashton isn’t sure whether he counts Calum as part of the group or not. It’s been the three of them for so long that it almost seems a bit late to consider at this point. But Calum straddles two worlds, his honesty with them and the facade he paints for the rest of the school. Ashton thinks it’s possible for him to be in both worlds in equal measure, rather than split.

Ashton likes Calum a lot, in spite of his initial doubts. He’s quiet and observant, but when it comes to people he cares about—Ashton now included in that group—he is fierce, fiery. Ashton has seen his charcoal eyes alight, and he would dread being on the receiving end of that defensive anger. And Michael’s stupid for him, he can tell. The frightening thing is that he suspects deep down, Calum’s even stupider for Michael.

“Of course I’ll go,” Calum says. “When and where?”

“At four on Saturday in the auditorium at Norwest.”

“I’ll be there.”

Luke beams, and Ashton continues to ponder Calum’s role in their group.

 

* * *

 

Ashton feels completely out of his depth standing among all this art. Even the mediocre stuff, and there’s plenty of that. He can’t find Luke or Michael, so he and Calum are wandering around together and looking at the art. Calum looks equally uncomfortable.

“Ooh, this one is cool,” Camum says, stopping in front of a big painting. “Jellyfish. Nice.”

“I’m so untalented,” Ashton says blankly. “I feel so inadequate.”

“Hmm, same.”

“Where the fuck is Luke?”

“He’s _your_ boyfriend,” Calum points out. “How did you lose him?”

“I don’t know, he’s small,” Ashton sighs. “Oh! Look! This is one of Luke’s.”

It’s the first painting Ashton has seen from him, and it’s a landscape of the daisies behind their house. It’s just titled _Daisy Field_. Ashton supposes landscapes are rather easy for beginner painters, but he also knows how important this field is to Luke. To Ashton, too.

“Oh, wow,” Calum enthuses. “It’s really pretty. He’s good, then?”

“Yeah,” Ashton says. “He works really hard at it, like—spends hours every day. He used to sketch and sketch and sketch when he started out. Guess he was always good at art, but when he started taking classes, he really got into it.”

“That’s cool. Wish I was that good at something.”

“What about footy? Michael says you’re really good. Everyone says so.”

Calum simply shrugs, as if he would rather sweep it under the carpet. “There’s something about art, though. Being able to recreate something beautiful, to make something so exquisite—” Calum sounds wistful, longing as he looks at the painting. “There’s nothing beautiful about footy.”

“Hey! There you guys are,” Luke says from behind him. “I have two more pieces to show you, if you haven’t seen already. Oh, and Michael went to find the snacks. I haven’t seen him in a while.”

“Of course he is,” Calum says. “This one’s really good.”

“Eh, it’s my first official painting,” Luke says, wrinkling his nose. “How hard is it to paint a bunch of vaguely discernible white flowers in a field of green shades? By far not the most impressive.”

Ashton thinks Luke is full of shit, but lets him ramble on. “You gonna show us the others?”

Luke cheers up. “Oh! I like those better. I’ll show you the color pencil one first, save the best for last.” He pulls them between the screens that the art hangs on and leads them to his second drawing.

It’s a portrait of a body, half draped in a sheet and sitting with his back to the beholder. The face is turned to the side, the hair clipped short, and the pale skin of the visible part of the face is marred with purple. The skin is in such detail, little freckles dotting the flesh, and the way the body is curved, Ashton can see where Luke has drawn in the little bumps of the spine and the way the muscles stretch over the bones. It’s simply labeled, _A Study in Anatomy and Color_ , but while the face isn’t recognizable as anybody and parades as an androgynous, strange figure, Ashton knows that it is more than it pretends to be.

“Beautiful,” Ashton says, and sweeps Luke into his arms, hugging him from behind. Luke’s arms bend and his hands rest on top of Ashton’s, leaning back against his body and smiling at his own artwork. “It’s amazing, Luke. Just—beautiful.”

“Thanks,” he says, turning his face towards Ashton and scrunching his eyes shut when he receives a kiss to the cheek. “Wanna see the last one?”

Ashton nods and Luke pulls him towards the front. Calum follows behind, content to be left alone. Luke shouts at Michael, who’s trailing past, to come join them. Michael looks rather disgruntled, but comes over with a muffin in his hand.

“Alright, this is it,” Luke says, entering the front section.

“This is where all the ones with prizes are,” Calum says in surprise.

Luke just smiles.

He takes Ashton’s hand, rather bold considering their surroundings, but Ashton doesn’t let go. They weave through the screens and the anticipation builds. At last, they stop, and Luke points upwards at his drawing.

Ashton’s knees are weak and he’s holding Luke’s hand tightly, too tightly. The air has been punched right out of his chest.

_Saturday Morning 8 AM._

It’s a picture of that day Ashton had been trying to get Lauren to finish her chores, a few months after Warwick left when it was still fresh in everyone’s minds, and she’d snapped and yelled that he wasn’t her dad, that no matter how hard he tried, he would never be enough. And Ashton had laid in the fields and cried, Luke’s legs tangled in his and their noses brushing. In the drawing, Luke’s face is clear and identifiable, his delicate hand on Ashton’s cheek, obscuring most of Ashton’s face to preserve some anonymity, but leaving his dark-rimmed, glassy-looking eyes visible. There’s dampness over the skin that shows and Luke’s hand, betraying the emotion of that morning, and the implication that were the picture a snapshot in a movie, their lips would soon come together. It’s somehow painful and fragile, without color or context.

“Holy shit,” Michael says. “Luke, you won second place with this?”

Luke nods absently, squeezing Ashton’s hand. “I wasn’t sure if you’d mind,” Luke says quietly. “I tried to hide your face, but I think you can tell.”

“It’s okay,” Ashton says thickly. “It’s incredible, Luke. Just unbelievable.”

“Thank you,” Luke says distantly, laying his head on Ashton’s shoulder. “Let’s go home.”

They don’t go straight home, though. They go through the back entrance to the daisy fields, the sun setting quickly. They run through the stalks, laughing together. Calum seems befuddled as to the purpose of this expedition, but Michael assures him that they’re not trying to punk him. Luke is the one to bend to his knees and begin stringing daisies together. And when it’s done, it sits among Calum’s black curls.

“You are one of us now,” Luke pronounces. Calum smiles widely, letting Michael take his face in his hands and kiss him.

It’s the first time Luke and Ashton have ever seen it, and Ashton recognizes the burning hunger in both of their eyes.

Ashton gets the feeling that somehow, standing there with Luke clinging to his arm, everything is falling into place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is almost 10k holy shit it took me so long  
> title from wild by troye sivan (go watch the video it is literally this story)  
> i have...another long songfic for you...it's gonna be malum and based off colors by halsey...who's ready to cry  
> i wanted to remind you guys that my tumblr user is @clingyluke, and you can come talk to me at any time! ask me anything you want, including stuff about this story and lashton. i'll even talk about smut if ya want me to, just send me shit i'm online a ton  
> i'll track the tag bcbp as well  
> and there are only about two chapters left in this! this was supposed to be a slow burn but i'm not sure if it even counts as that anymore was it really that slow, you tell me  
> PLEASE TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK bc your comments make me super warm inside  
> i love you all! i hope you're doing great and i'll see you next chapter (or whenever)  
> love u xx


	9. grace in your heart and flowers in your hair

_October 2010_

“Have you seen Michael?” Luke asks, skipping up next to Ashton. “He didn’t pick me up from my class.”

“No,” Ashton says. “I think he said something about giving a pencil back to Calum.”

“Mm, doesn’t Cal have footy practice?”

“Yeah. You wanna head home?”

“What about Michael? D’you wanna go find him? I’m sure it won’t take him long to give the pencil back.”

“They’ll be in the locker room, you want me to go?”

“Okay, leave your bag here.”

Ashton smiles and gives him a quick peck to the cheek. Luke smiles bashfully, hugging his books to his chest. His cheeks flush to the color of his bow. “Be back soon, yeah?”

“Love you,” Luke whispers fleetingly.

Ashton hurries off towards the locker room, mindful of the time and hesitant to leave Luke all alone after all the roughing up he’s gotten. The footy boys are already filling out of the locker room, talking amongst themselves. “Ryan,” he calls to one of the boys he knows. “Is Calum still inside?”

“Yeah, he was talking to—what’s he called? Mikey or some shit. Isn’t that what Calum calls him?”

“Thanks,” Ashton says quickly, pushing through the throng and catching the door before it closes. He squeezes through the gap and is met with a rush of calm compared to the hustle of the boys moving and talking outside. It’s empty towards the back where he knows Calum’s locker is. The last of the footy boys have cleared entirely out of the locker room.

Ashton strolls to the back and rounds the corner. His eyes immediately take in the split second’s sight of two pairs of lips pressed against each other before there’s a heavy gasp and they’re pulling apart. Michael turns, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and sighs in relief when he finds it’s Ashton.

“Jesus fuck, I thought you were one of the team,” Calum pants. “Way to sneak up on us.” There’s a pretty blush on both of their cheeks, and Ashton smiles. It’s so obvious just looking at them that they were making out; messy hair, red lips, Ashton knows the signs. He and Luke have explored harder, more aggressive kisses—deeper and more sexually motivated passion than when they were younger and first starting out. Of course, Calum and Michael don’t kiss the same way; they seem to kiss more gently, even still with passion, but Ashton wonders if that might change.

“I was just checking to see if Mikey was coming home with us,” Ashton says, suppressing a laugh. “I guess you two are pretty busy, though.”

“Nah, I should get home,” Michael agrees, grabbing his bag. He gives Calum a quick kiss on the mouth and a big smile. “Text me, Cal.”

“Bye,” Calum says softly.

Michael waves and walks with Ashton out of the locker room. They make their way back to where Ashton left Luke. “I still can’t believe you’re dating the captain of the football team,” Ashton says, shaking his head. “I swear I never thought he was into guys.”

“Nobody can resist me.”

“Um, I definitely can.”

“Yeah, but you’re gross anyway,” Michael retaliates, sticking his tongue out childishly. Ashton laughs.

“What’s it like? Dating someone cool? Are you cool by association now?”

“It’s like dating a normal person,” Michael says with a shrug. “It’s not like anybody knows we’re together, so it doesn’t really matter.”

“What’s he like, though?” Ashton asks, honestly curious. He’s still getting to know Calum, and he suspects that Michael probably knows a different side of him anyway.

“He’s sweet,” Michael says with a fond smile. “He’s kind of naive, actually. He gets really shy. He came to my house and we were kissing, and the housekeeper walked in to bring me some laundry, and he didn’t know what to do. Stuttered the whole time and tried to shake her hand.”

“Well, God knows one of you should be polite.”

“I think it’s cute. He treats me well, you know.”

“Who tops?”

Michael hesitates. “We haven’t done anything like that.”

“Nothing? Come on. Luke’s already gotten a handjob from me and he’s 14. He’s showing you up.”

“I so did not need to know that,” Michael mutters, wrinkling his nose. “We might do something over the Christmas break, if you must know. I asked and—I think he’s on board.”

“You’re gonna tell me, right?” Ashton presses. “I deserve to know.”

“Like hell you do,” Michael snorts. “Focus on fucking your own boyfriend, not me and mine.”

“Luke’s 14, don’t be obscene.”

“He jerks off, I think he’s okay,” Michael says with a smirk.

Ashton gapes. It’s such a casual remark, but he has to put concerted effort into not picturing that. “Seriously? You didn’t think to tell me?”

“Tell you what?” Luke asks, within earshot.

“That you jerk off, you sneaky shit,” Ashton says, folding his arms.

“You told him?” Luke exclaims, flushing and slapping Michael’s arm. His blue eyes are big and sad. “I told you not to! Prick.”

“I’m sorry, he was making fun of me,” Michael protests. “I had to throw someone under the bus. It just had to be you.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Ashton demands to know, folding his arms. “I feel like this is an important talk to be left out of.”

“Talk about it later,” Luke mumbles, hugging his books even tighter and shaking his head. Ashton feels his insides take a flip; maybe he shouldn’t have told Luke that Michael told him. Is Luke embarrassed? Upset? He can’t quite tell, but he can sense Luke’s mood shift.

“Let’s go home,” Michael interjects, filling the silence. “I’ll file this away for future reference. Michael, don’t tell Luke’s secrets. Lesson learned.”

They walk home after that, talking lightly on other subjects. It’s still on Ashton’s mind, and he knows it’s still on Luke’s. Ashton thinks idly of his own first time and how frightening it was. There had been so many thoughts running through his head. That it was wrong to touch himself in that way, that it was wrong to think of a boy while doing it. Because the church said so. Because his mother said so. Because everyone around him said so. Because good boys didn’t do things like that.

If Luke is thinking any of those things, even one of them, Ashton is determined to wipe it out of his head.

When they’re at home and it’s just the two of them lying on the bed together, Ashton brings it up again. Luke’s lying between his legs, head on his chest, and Ashton’s got his arms wrapped securely around him. “Are you embarrassed?”

“‘Bout what?” Luke asks, almost sullen. He plays with Ashton’s fingers on his chest.

“That you get off,” Ashton says, figuring it’s best to put it bluntly. “Or are you just upset Michael told me?”

“That, yeah.” Luke lies in silence for a bit, and when Ashton’s about to speak and try and say more without sounding like an insensitive idiot, Luke gives in and adds, “Okay, maybe I was a little embarrassed.”

“Why?” Ashton says. “You know you can tell me anything.”

“I didn’t want you to think I was” —Luke pauses, licking his lips and fingers tensing over Ashton’s— “dirty.”

Ashton grimaces. “Don’t think that, Luke.”

“I don’t know why,” Luke says softly, thoughtfully. “I was fine when you did it to me. Seemed kind of filthy to do it on my own.”

“It’s your body, Luke. You can do whatever you want with it. It’s not filthy. It’s normal and healthy.”

“Are you sure?” Luke turns his head and attempts to look up at Ashton.

“Absolutely,” Ashton promises, planting a kiss on his temple. “I do it too sometimes. Everyone does it.”

“Really?” Luke’s face breaks into a smile. His features brighten, relieved. “Everyone?”

“Yep, bet your brothers do it too.”

Luke makes a gagging noise in response. “Gross.”

“Just don’t think about it,” Ashton advises. “You don’t ever have to be embarrassed to tell me something, yeah? Nothing you can say will change how I feel about you.”

“Promise?”

“Always, Luke.”

 

* * *

 

_December 2010_

For once, Michael’s parents are consistently home during most of December, which means that they don’t see much of him for a while apart from texts and a few short video calls. They whisk him off to Melbourne for a few days to visit his cousins, and he spends the day he comes back at Calum’s place. Ashton knows what that means, mostly because Michael’s been hinting at it for a while. A couple days later, he and Luke finally manage to sneak over for a sleepover.

It’s to be reunited. Calum, who’s been added to their group chat, was supposed to come over too, but is mysteriously absent. He’s been slowly integrating more and more into their group, although he’s fairly quiet still and Ashton isn’t always sure he’s quite found his niche. As much as Ashton doesn’t know where Calum fits in, Calum doesn’t seem to know either, alternating back and forth between circles.

It’s all okay, though. Ashton doesn’t mind, not with the way he smooths out Michael’s edges and makes him into a wholly changed person.

“Where’s Cal?” Ashton asks when Luke scrambles downstairs to wash out the juice Michael spilled in his hair (probably on purpose, too).

Michael pauses the game he’s playing on his phone and looks up, his eyes glinting silver. “Not coming,” Michael says. “I didn’t tell him to, actually.”

“Something go wrong?” Ashton feels his heart tighten nervously. He wouldn’t know what to tell Michael if something had; none of them have ever dealt with heartbreak. The closest thing was Warwick leaving, and of course Ashton was the victim, leaving him with absolutely no clue as to how one fixes that sort of thing. Not that he wouldn’t try, though. For Michael, he would.

Michael begins mumbling, and _not exactly turns_ into _I don’t know, maybe_. Michael fists at his eyes childishly, face pulling into a quivery expression that Ashton hopes won’t fall any further. “We were gonna do it, like we said. But everything went wrong.”

“Not all firsts times are perfect,” Ashton reminds him uneasily.

“No, we—we didn’t end up doing anything. We came close, and we were—he wasn’t hard, like, at all. And he didn’t look like he was even there. So I stopped, and he started apologizing. Like crazy. He was really upset. Said he was a freak and all this shit. He said he’d never gotten hard for anyone, and he just didn’t want to let me down. It was like our first kiss all over again.”

“I’m sorry,” Ashton says automatically, brow furrowing. At the same time, he can’t help but feel sorry for Calum, who has taken everything on his shoulders and has been letting it weigh him down for so long. “What did you do?”

“We just talked for a while. He said that he figured out he was asexual a while ago, when he couldn’t get it up for his girlfriend. He didn’t know if it was because he was only interested in guys, but eventually he knew that he was interested in both, he just never found anyone sexually interesting. Shit, what do I know about all of this?” Michael glances up at Ashton, lower lip drawn beneath his teeth. Ashton is unaccustomed to seeing Michael in a vulnerable way; Michael is so often the one to comfort someone else. “I didn’t know how to talk to him about it. I was afraid I’d sound like a complete dick.”

“Maybe you should just ask him?” Ashton slides out of his sleeping bag and coming to sit on the bed next to Michael. “He’ll know you just want to know more. Sometimes the best way to go about things is just to be straight up, you know?”

“Yeah.” Michael sighs. “I’m gonna be a virgin forever.”

“You have a right hand and a boy who thinks you’re worth risking everything for,” Ashton says, wrapping an arm around Michael’s shoulders. “Somehow, I think you’ll live.”

 

* * *

 

_January 2011_

“Hands at ten and two on the wheel,” Ben instructs from the passenger seat.

“Ten and two? Ten and two what?” Ashton says, purposely being difficult.

“On the clock, dummy,” Ben says patiently. “The steering wheel is a clock. If you’re going to be annoying, I won’t teach you how to drive. I’m only doing this because it’s something you need to learn.”

“I literally have never needed something less.”

Ben clicks his tongue exasperatedly. “Ten and two. Let’s go.”

Ashton does as he’s told this time. Despite his complaints, he’s kind of glad Ben has taken it upon himself to teach him. When his mum isn’t working, she’s doing housework, and Ashton can feel the tension mounting. She must know, he thinks; the pastor very indiscreetly tried to pull him aside and pray the gay away last week. But she can hardly do anything on suspicion, especially when Ashton is so careful not to let her see him with Luke. If she does, they usually have Michael with them. Regardless, she’s either unwilling or simply too busy to take the time and teach him how to drive.

Ben hadn’t really approached him with it as much as pushed him into the car and said he was going to teach him how to drive. And, well, he didn’t get much of a choice.

“Alright, now you want to be in first gear, so shift down.” Ben shows him how to shift with the joystick. “We’re gonna take a cruise around the neighborhood. This is my car, so I hope you don’t crash.”

“I won’t,” Ashton says, rolling his eyes and pressing down gently on the gas pedal. The car inches forward. This is the most informal training he supposes anyone could get, and Ben’s literally told him nothing else.

“A little faster would be cool,” Ben says, reclining lazily. “You’ll fail the driver’s test if you drive this slowly.”

“I’m being safe and not crashing your car.”

“I can feel myself aging.”

“Oh my god, can you shut up? I’m doing my best.” Ashton takes his foot off the gas and crosses his arms, turning up his nose as the car comes to a stop again. “If you’re going to insult me the whole time, watch me crash this into a tree.”

Ben smiles and shakes his head. “You’re going to kill me before this is done.”

Ashton thinks that despite Ben being an awful teacher, he still loves him quite a bit.

 

* * *

 

_March 2011_

Ashton really should have pressed the decline button on his phone when he heard it buzz next to him. Instead, he rolls over on his side and answers it, keeping his voice low with Harry fast asleep on the other side of the room. “What’s up, babe?”

“Ash,” Luke says, sounding breathless. “Help me.”

“What is it?” Ashton asks, alarmed. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Luke says, and then lets out a high whine. “I’m really hard. Can you sneak over?”

Ashton sits up in an instant, biting his knuckles. He can hear Luke breathing, loud and erratic. He moves the phone from his ear and glances first at the window, then Harry, then towards the door. The sounds of the TV in the living room filter quietly through the crack under the door. There’s no way to leave without waking Harry or alerting his mother (and “my boyfriend’s jerking off without me” just doesn’t seem very persuasive). “Shit, I don’t think so.”

Luke makes a sad, desperate noise far back in his throat, and Ashton curses as his dick twitches in his sleep shorts. “Please, Ash. Do something. I’m desperate and I can’t get there on my own.”

“Okay, okay, hold on.” Ashton slides quietly out of bed and crosses to the bathroom adjoining their bedroom, locking the door after him. He sits down on the toilet lid. “Do you want me to help?”

“Please.” Luke sounds almost close to tears.

“Take your hand off your dick, then.”

“Ash,” Luke begins to complain, but Ashton cuts him off.

“You want my help? Get your hand off your dick.” Ashton turns the volume up on his phone and hears a shuffling before a sigh.

“Done.” Luke’s voice is strained.

“I want you to tease yourself,” Ashton continues. “Rub your hands down your torso and to your inner thighs.”

There’s a silence that follows. Ashton hears a few jagged breaths now and then, a few gasps. Luke is already so worked up that it’s enough to keep him excited. Ashton can see Luke splayed out on his bed in the dark, small fingers rubbing everywhere but where it matters, hips canting up in desperation. Dick curving towards his stomach—small, slim, red—and Luke’s face, flushed and forehead damp. Luke will start begging soon, if Ashton knows anything.

“Doing good for me, baby boy,” Ashton praises. “Feeling alright?”

“Yeah,” Luke pants, swallowing audibly. “Please.”

“You can touch your dick, but go slowly, yeah? Keep teasing yourself. Your thighs, your stomach. Give your body something else to react to.”

“Okay.” Ashton is rewarded by a low, breathy moan. He knows how obscene Luke looks like that, has seen it himself. Weak and needy and overwhelmed. Rough, thin blond hair dusted over his lower half that Ashton likes to have his nose pressed against, swallowing hard.

“Twist your wrist when you go up and press your thumb into the slit. You know how, baby boy, c’mon. Sound so good for me right now, don’t you? I wish I was the one touching you.” Ashton knows Luke likes talking; he likes being praised, being reminded of whose he is. Luke’s whimpering softly now, little _ah, ah_ s that let Ashton know that it’s headed in the right direction.

“God,” Luke says, moaning softly. “Fuck, I wish you were here.”

“You doing what I told you to?” Ashton moves his hand to palm himself through the soft fabric of his shorts. His stomach does a flip.

“Yeah, fuck, it’s better.”

“C’mon, baby boy, keep going.” There’s a tiny gasp, sharp and surprised, followed by a drawn out moan, and Ashton wonders what’s happened. “What’d you do, baby boy?”

“I—I—my nipples are really hard,” Luke stammers. “I was playing with them, earlier.”

Ashton can picture the flush spreading over his cheeks at admitting that. As much as he loves humiliating Luke in this fashion, getting him worked up, he also wants to make sure Luke knows it’s okay to admit it, considering Luke’s unwillingness to admit he got off on his own. “That’s good,” Ashton encourages, repressing his own sounds as he feels his dick harden in his shorts. He reaches down and slips a hand inside, stroking gently.

Luke groans. “I still can’t get it,” he mumbles, muffling a moan. He’s probably sweating, flushed all down his neck and chest, legs splayed out and head tossed back. Ashton can see it, his fingers tweaking at his nipples and the way his eyes probably flinch shut every time. “Fuck, I really wanna come.”

Ashton’s mind flashes with possibilities. He doesn’t know what Luke likes, per se, since they’ve really had limited experience exploring their own and each other’s bodies. But he has an idea, and the thought of Luke trying it out has a wave of heat rolling over him.

“Do you wanna try something new for me, babe?” Ashton says, drawing his lower lip between his teeth. He tries to contain his excitement and sound in control, calm. He doesn’t want his own enthusiasm to influence Luke’s ability to discern whether he wants to do it or not, especially because Ashton’s older and Luke has a tendency to be swayed by that. “Only if you’re comfortable with it.”

“Yeah, _anything_.”

“Want you to spread your legs for me. Nice and easy, knees up. Yeah, can you do that?”

“Yeah,” Luke says eagerly. “What do I do?”

“Put your fingers in your mouth,” Ashton instructs. “Gotta suck on them just like you’d suck my dick, always so good for me. Gonna want them pretty wet, babe.”

There’s a pause in the talking, and Ashton can hear a wet, suckling sound. Ashton shuts his eyes, picturing Luke with his fingers in his mouth. He knows what it looks like when Luke wants something, when he sucks hard. He strokes his own dick faster, putting more pressure into his fingers and twisting at the top.

“I think it’s good,” Luke says, his voice breathy and lower than normal. “Now?”

“I want you to finger yourself. Can you do that for me, baby boy?” Ashton waits nervously. Perhaps this is too much for Luke; Ashton wonders if this is a big request, if Luke is even ready despite saying he is. But—

“Jesus,” Luke says, choking. “Yeah, yeah. I can do that.”

“Start with one finger. Yeah? Real slow. I know you can do this, baby boy. You’re doing so good. Just a little bit at a time. Make sure to stop if it hurts, yeah?”

“Okay, I can do it.” Luke takes a deep breath and shifts. “Keep talking to me.”

“You’re so good for me,” Ashton praises. “I bet you look amazing right now, shivering, touching yourself. I wish I could see you, babe. You’re being a such a good boy for me tonight.”

“It feels okay,” Luke says. “Feels good. I’ve never—” Luke trails off, and he sighs. “Can I start another?”

“Already? You’re taking it so well. I’m so proud of you. Do you like feeling full? Stretched?”

“Yeah, yeah, feels good,” Luke says, his breathing picking up. “I think I—oh, oh my god.”

“Are you okay? Did you find it?”

“I think so.” Luke moans loudly, helplessly. Ashton jerks off faster thinking of Luke with his knees pulled towards his chest, two fingers deep in his own ass, squirming. He’s probably having trouble staying quiet. He must be sweating from trying to cum from so long, a pretty sheen that covers him head to toe. “Fuck, oh, Ash, I—feels so good, please.”

“Doing great, baby boy,” Ashton says, swallowing hard and throwing his head back. He’ll have to muffle his own climax to avoid waking Harry. “Keep going. You’re so hot, Jesus.”

“I think I’m gonna come soon,” Luke whimpers. “Feels so good, I feel—full. Wish it was your fingers, bet they’d fill me up better.”

“Yeah, would fill you up so good.” Ashton says, his voice cracking. “C’mon, I’m so close.”

“Can I come?” Ashton can’t believe Luke is asking his permission, and he swells with pride.

“Yeah, baby boy, come for me.”

There’s a soft, surprised, high-pitched whimper—Luke coming—and Ashton feels his own orgasm wash over him as he listens to Luke’s noises and breathing. Warmth spreads through his thighs and all the way down to his toes. When they’ve both come down, Ashton grimaces at the unfortunate mess of his shorts.

“Wow,” Luke says fuzzily. “That was wow.”

“Christ, you’re the best,” Ashton says, trying to breathe normally. “It’s, like, one in the morning and there’s cum in my boxers.”

“Thank you,” Luke says sweetly. “I feel a lot better now. That was fun, don’t you think? I should call you more often.”

“God, no. Next time I’m sneaking over.”

Luke giggles hazily. “I’m gonna fall asleep.”

“Okay, dork, I love you.”

“I looove you, Ash.”

 

* * *

 

_June 2011_

Michael and Calum must have resolved their issues at some point, although Michael doesn’t talk about it, not like it’s unusual. Ashton is happy that they’ve figured it out. Calum seems to walk a little taller around school, and though he doesn’t know why, it certainly can’t hurt. Ashton has always known Calum to be quiet and introspective, even shy, which is the reason he’s captain of the footy team for the second year in a row: he thinks. Ashton can hardly begrudge him a boost in self esteem.

When the snow comes, much to everyone’s delight, Ashton scurries over to Luke’s. They curl up in his bed, trying to stay warm. The thermostat doesn’t work very well, so they’re tangled up together among mounds of blankets. About half an hour passes before Luke’s phone buzzes. Michael, calling.

“Luke! Is Ashton with you?”

“Yeah, he’s holding me.”

“How sweet,” Michael says at the same time Calum’s voice chimes in behind, “Fucking called it!”

“We’re at Cal’s house,” Michael says enthusiastically. “Come over.”

“It’s negative a million degrees,” Ashton exclaims. Luke agrees and snuggles closer, nuzzling his face in Ashton’s neck. “I’m never leaving this bed.”

“Oh my god, did we interrupt?” Calum interjects. “Our deepest apologies.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Ashton groans.

“Just come over! You guys are sickening. I can’t believe how boring you are. Get over here now.”

“The snow is too deep,” Luke whines. “I don’t wanna wear my snow clothes. They’re so ugly and baggy.”

“You’ll literally freeze without them, Princess.”

“Michael, I swear—”

“We’ll come,” Ashton intervenes. “But no more verbally abusing us for our life choices.”

“No fun at _all_ ,” Michael insists dolefully before hanging up.

They trundle up quickly. Ashton has no snow clothes, and Luke is less than eager to wear them, but they figure that if they take Ben’s car, they won’t be outside for much. They sprint down the drive, their feet sinking in the snow that hasn’t been shoveled yet. By the time they get into the car, they’re already freezing.

There’s some trouble actually getting to Calum’s, as the snow makes everything look different and Ashton gets lost multiple times. It’s hard to miss the two boys jumping up and down and waving at their car, one darker skinned and one light, in bauble-tipped beanies, mittens, and boots. They’re hardly better dressed for the cold than Luke and Ashton.

“Come on!” Michael yells. “You’re missing out on the fun.”

Ashton gets hit with a snowball as soon as he steps out of the car. He winces as a few more pelt his jacket and runs with his body low, attempting to avoid Michael’s admittedly bad aim as he runs for shelter. There’s a huge drift of snow towards the side of the yard that he ducks under, pulling Luke with him.

“Quickly, we have to fire back,” Ashton urges. “Rapid production. Let’s go.”

They set about furiously making snowballs. At a certain point, Ashton stands and begins fire them at the other two while Luke stays crouched and dedicatedly packs lopsided snowballs. “Eat a dick!” Ashton shouts, hitting Michael on the cheek with one.

Calum is quick to defend Michael, launching himself in front of him and throwing three in quick succession, making contact with each one. Luke won’t stand for that, and rises armed with snowballs and begins throwing as hard as he can. Calum shrieks out of excitement and pulls Michael down behind the snowdrift to shield them.

When they pop back up, their lips seem a little darker to Ashton, but it could be a trick of the light. Luke is shivering, teeth chattering and bare hands pale and cold. Everyone’s noses are red.

Luke takes a bite of snow and giggles. “It tastes s-so good,” he says to Ashton, his whole jaw shaking. “Try it.”

Ashton laughs and takes a bite. Cold, wet, probably dirty snow melts on his tongue. A snowball beans him, and he yelps and holds up his hands. “Mercy!”

The rapidfire ceases, and he and Luke collapse on the icy porch steps. He puts an arm around Luke to try to warm him up. Calum and Michael come to stand in front of them, Michael on Calum’s back. “We win,” Michael says, hoisting himself higher. “Eat our shit.”

“Your lips are blue,” Calum informs Luke with mild concern. “We should get inside before you turn into an icicle.”

They hurry inside the house, sighing gratefully at the warmth. Calum’s house is somewhere in between Luke’s and Michael’s in terms of niceness; it’s two story, like both of theirs, and fairly clean. Ashton feels a bit bad for dripping all over his threshold.

“Oh, for God’s sake.” Ashton glances over his shoulder to see a girl—Mali-koa, probably, who he’s heard quite a bit about—sitting at the kitchen table with a pen and notebook. “What is this? Did you all get buried in the snow, or something?”

“We got in a snowball fight,” Calum explains, kicking off his shoes and rushing to give her a hug and a kiss.

“You dripped a lake in the foyer, is what you did,” she corrects. “Who did you bring home this time? More hooligans?”

“They’re called friends,” Calum says, pouting.

“Footy?”

“No. Other.”

Mali fixes them with a hard look that makes Ashton nervous. He knows how close she and Calum are, and that what she says pretty much goes. “Are they the gay ones you told me about?”

“Mali,” Calum hisses, blushing. Ashton realizes he’s still got his arm around Luke’s shoulders and lets go quickly. “They’re dating, yeah.”

Mali gets up and approaches. “I’m Mali,” she says, smiling for the first time. She seems less intimidating like this, and some of Ashton’s nerves melt away.

“This is Luke, and Ashton,” Calum introduces. “

“Nice to meet you,” Luke says timidly, clinging closer to Ashton.

“You look half frozen,” she replies. “You all do. I told Mum I wouldn’t let you out in the snow. Go on, all of you dry off and change into something dry. I’ll make hot chocolate.”

“Really?” Calum beams, glows.

“I know, it’s astounding that I’m not a complete monster,” she says, rolling her eyes. “That’s what you told them, isn’t it?”

“Don’t be absurd.”

“Well, go on, now. Mum will throw a fit if you flood the house.” Mali tosses her long black hair over her shoulder and begins to rummage in the kitchen cupboards. “What are you all waiting for? Grab some towels and go.”

Calum leads the way, and they all scurry to follow him. In the upstairs bathroom, which is decorated with cartoon fish shower curtains and cute wall stickers that Ashton suspects are from Calum’s childhood. They all peel off their wet clothes until they’re standing in boxers, shivering on the cold tiles. He takes down two fluffy, pristine white towels, one for him and Michael, one for Ashton and Luke. Ashton takes one and begins to rub Luke’s damp and, in places, soaked, skin dry. Luke’s hair, where it’s gotten wet, have frozen in icy droplets that are beginning to melt. Luke stands still and waits patiently for Ashton to finish and dry himself off.

Calum digs through his drawers to find fresh clothes for all of them. It’s easy enough for Michael and Ashton, who are roughly his size, but Luke’s a little smaller, and ends up in an old pair of sweatpants and a sweater that’s far too baggy. When they’re all dressed, they go downstairs to snuggle up on the couch and flip on a movie, sipping the hot chocolate Mali made.

Luke rests his head on Ashton’s lap, content there. Calum is huddled close with Michael, leaning on his shoulder. Ashton feels surprisingly at peace here, like it’s where they all belong, like Calum’s really become one of them. He supposes he should stop thinking of him as other, since he’s as much a part of their group as the footy boys. It doesn’t have to be dichotomized. Calum shares something with all of them.

At some point—Ashton’s not sure when, or how long they’ve all been cuddled up together—Calum’s mum comes home. She comes into the living room before Ashton can ask if she’s okay with them, if she knows, if he should nudge Luke off him.

She gasps, but it’s more surprise and excitement than shock. “These ones! Have I met them?”

“No, Mum,” Calum says, not moving from where his hand is laced in Michael’s hair. “This is Luke and Ashton.”

“They’re gay too?” she asks, smiling big. “They’re—boyfriends?”

Calum smiles embarrassedly. “Yeah.”

“Are they staying for lunch?”

“We should get home soon,” Ashton says with a gracious smile. “But thank you.”

“Nice to meet you,” she acknowledges, and goes back into the kitchen. Ashton looks across at Calum, a smile forming.

“Did you come out?”

Calum nods timidly. “Wasn’t a big deal.”

“That’s awesome. I’m super happy for you, dude.”

Calum snuggles closer to Michael, cheeks tinted pink. Ashton thinks idly that technically now he’s the only one who’s still in the closet, since—well, Luke’s fooling nobody. But it can’t be helped. He knows he’ll be in the closet until he gets out of his house, since he risks too much otherwise. Luke knows; Luke understands that. Ashton doesn’t really worry about it much anymore—though it strains him to be in a disguise whenever he’s at home, it’s only temporary.

 

* * *

 

_November 2011_

Ashton and Luke have always lain low at school as much as they can, hoping to avoid running into trouble. Luke, particularly, already makes quite the statement, and they have their hands full with that. Ashton isn’t looking to get himself into any sticky situations by outing himself. At least they don’t go to Norwest, which is not only a private school but is also Christian. Public school is a tiny bit more accepting. Ashton suspects Luke would have been kicked out of Norwest the day he came to school in a skirt.

But Ashton isn’t planning to come out, even given that Richmond can’t expel him for being gay. It would probably be better if they could, because he thoroughly expects to get his ass kicked if the other kids find out. The only advantage he has is being friends with Calum, who is connected to the people who matters, and his own size. At 17, he’s finally broadened out and hit another growth spurt. He practically towers over Luke, who is not only much shorter but also much thinner and fragile-looking.

Of course, when have things _ever_ gone his way?

It starts in his English class, when the only girl at his table asks point-blank, “Are you gay?”

Ashton starts to sputter, taken aback. “What?” he says, fighting to keep the blush off his cheeks. “Of course not.”

“I saw you kissing that kid,” she says, setting her pencil down. “You guys would make a really cute couple, you know?”

“That’s ridiculous,” Ashton says, keeping his eyes on his work. “I’ve never kissed Luke.”

“I didn’t say anything about Luke.” The girl laughs, watching his face. The other two boys at the table are half listening. “I’m just saying, though. A lot of girls have been talking about you guys.”

“What did they say?” Ashton asks, a little too quickly. “I mean, nothing bad, right?”

“They thought you guys seemed like a couple. You’re always together, you walk home together.”

“We live next door to each other.”

“And I could have sworn I saw you guys kissing when I was leaving late the other day. It’d be totally cool if you were, you know. A ton of girls are shipping you together.”

“Shipping?” Ashton looks perplexed, probably. Something stirs in his stomach. Butterflies, maybe.

“You know. Like, if you want people to be a couple.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“So? Is it true? You can tell me.” She waggles her eyebrows at him, and he laughs despite himself. “You can tell these bozos, too. They’re keeping their mouths shut, but we’ve all talked about it.”

The guys have the decency to look back down at their work, minding their own business.

“I’m not at liberty to say,” Ashton says, smiling. “Think what you will.”

“I knew it,” she cheers, taking his response as affirmative. “Holy shit.”

From then, it spirals. Word spreads quickly that they’re dating, and then there’s no stopping the assumption. Ashton almost doesn’t mind.

It doesn’t go half as badly as Ashton thinks. Turns out, by the time they all reach Year 11, his class is half disinterested in whether two boys are dating, and half mature enough to know what’s their business and what isn’t. There’s an odd interest from the girls, who coo when Ashton kisses Luke’s cheek without thinking at lunch one day. Ashton finds himself pestered with questions about how they met (“we were trash for each other since we were little kids”) and how they got together (“trial and error”) and how they knew they were gay (to which Ashton and Luke shrug, because, well, they’d sort of always known, even if they hadn't known exactly what it was). There’s not much animosity, although they do receive their fair share of odd looks.

“Man, I’m getting really sick of questions about you guys,” Michael whinges one day. “People are really buzzing about you.”

“Hypocrites,” Ashton mutters, rolling his eyes. “Everyone wanted to crucify us a couple years ago.”

“It’s 2011. Guess nobody care anymore if dudes wanna fuck. I mean, there are bigger problems in this world. Like the fact that you guys came out _before_ me and Cal. Stole our spotlight, really.”

Ashton shoves Michael for that.

But despite his initial hesitation, he kind of likes that he has the freedom to kiss Luke all the time, now.

He’s never known this kind of liberation, this openness. It’s always, always been about hiding, about ducking into closets and behind buildings to kiss when nobody’s around. He didn’t even know he wanted that until he got it. It’s wonderful, even if he can’t have that at home. He’ll take everything he can get. When he’s with Luke, there’s no emptiness in his heart.

 

* * *

 

_December 2011_

They all attend the end-of-year footy championship. Practically everyone from school does, really, but it’s the first time Ashton’s been to a game. Richmond has made it to the finals, and there’s a good chance they’ll win. It’s a big deal, because it’ll be the first time Richmond has won in ages if they do, and it’s on home soil.

Calum’s especially nervous, though usually he’s coolheaded before games. No matter how many times Michael reminds him that he’s got a whole team, Calum insists that it’ll be on his shoulders if they lose. He drafts game plans every lunch time, usually sitting on his own, frowning deeply.

It’s good game weather, Calum insists. Not too hot, not too cold, so they won’t be in danger of people passing out and their lungs won’t burn. Michael’s wearing Calum’s away jersey, his only spare, and refuses to take it off despite Luke aggressively complaining that it smells like it’s never been washed. Michael thinks it smells okay, but Luke thinks he’s simply been wearing it for so long the smell doesn’t bother him anymore. Michael’s gone as far as to paint Calum’s number and the school colors on his face, and has a huge poster that says _Calum Hood is good (at football)_ and the flip side, _#3 on the field, #1 in my heart_ that Ashton teases him endlessly over, but Michael complains that if they wanted a more creative poster they should have helped him.

By the time they’re seated in the bleachers, even Ashton is starting to worry. He can see Calum milling around by the benches, dressed in his uniform and eyebrows drawn tight. He’s obviously stressed, and he keeps going over to the coach and talking to him. He says something to his co-captain, then reties his shoes for no discernible reason.

The scoreboards are set, and the referee declares that the game will start in ten minutes. Calum runs to the captains’ huddle with the other team’s captains and the coaches, and they’re briefed on the rules for what Ashton suspects is the millionth unnecessary time. After the players are all checked for having appropriate uniforms and gear, the starters run out to the field, taking their places. Calum is in the center front. “He’s a center forward,” Michael says, as if Ashton knows what he’s talking about.

Calum’s worried features have slid away, and now he just looks determined and ready to fight for this championship. When the whistle blows, Calum takes the ball easily and starts dribbling down the field. Ashton can see, even with very little knowledge of how the game works, why Calum is so widely praised for his skills. He’s fast and agile, and looks like he knows exactly what he’s doing. He knows Calum’s been training since he was able to walk, and that he’s worked incredibly hard to get to where he is. Sleepaway footy camps every summer, after school leagues in addition to school football. If he doesn’t go to uni on a scholarship, he’ll end up playing professionally, no doubt. He has plenty of recruiters and scholarships already lined up.

The first half is gritty and, in some moments, violent. One of their home team members sits out with his knee wrapped in ice, and the opposing team has two out for injuries and dehydration. Ashton hadn’t expected it to be so intense, in all honesty, but both teams want it desperately. It’s no surprise that there have been so many fouls.

The score is 2-2.

“I’m scared,” Michael whines. “If he doesn’t win, he’s gonna be crushed. He’s pushing himself so hard.”

Ashton can see that, too. Calum comes off the field for halftime looking like a different person. He’s covered in perspiration, and there’s dirt on his knees and face, though how Ashton’s not sure. He’s been in some clashes with other players, on the ground and standing up, and somehow or another it must have gotten smeared when he sweated and wiped his face.

Calum pulls the team into a huddle and begins talking, inaudible over the buzz of the crowd. The sky is starting to dim, and the stadium lights get flipped on. Ashton is nervous for the team, and for Calum. It’ll ride heavily on him if he loses, though nobody will blame him. “Is he getting switched out this half?” Ashton asks, watching some new players get out on the field. Michael shrugs, unsure.

Calum jogs out to his normal place on the field, jaw set. Ashton can tell he’s not going to be discouraged. He worries that Calum is pushing too hard, perhaps, that it’ll set him back to be so tired. He’s downed a half bottle of water just at the half. Ashton can see he’s not going to let himself give up.

The referee blows the whistle for the game to resume, and the players take off again.

It feels just as even-keeled as before. No clear leading team. Everyone is going all out. It’s more aggressive than the first half; one of the Richmond players knocks another player over on purpose, and gets red carded. There are yellow cards being handed out, fouls being called. Calum takes a ball to the thigh particularly hard and doubles over, rubbing the area of contact. The coach asks if he wants to sit out, and he refuses. Michael clutches at Luke’s arm the whole time, babbling and keeping his eyes firmly fixed on Calum on the field.

When there are ten minutes left in the game, they’re still tied at 3-3, and Ashton is terrified that they won’t win. He bites his lip, praying. Everyone is screaming encouragement at their home team, and the whole stadium is tense.

“Come on, come on,” Michael mumbles, leaning over the fence. “You can do this, Calum!” he adds, yelling at the top of his lungs. Calum, paused for a penalty that’s on the other side of the field, looks up and sees him. He smiles briefly before turning back to the game.

A few seconds before the last half is over, one of the forwards takes a wild kick at the ball, and everyone holds their breath.

It bounces off the goalpost.

It means overtime. Calum bends over, his hands on his knees, and makes a pained face. He must be exhausted. Someone hands him a water bottle, and he takes a large swig from it. He seems tapped out as the other captain delivers the pep talk to the team.

“Calum!” Michael shouts as they’re about to go back on the field for the last time. “Calum!”

Calum looks at Michael, still visibly breathing heavily.

“You can do it,” Michael yells. “I know you can!”

And Calum smiles, his shoulders lifting. A teammate yanks him away, but he’s gotten the message. He doesn’t go onto the field for the first half of overtime.

“Someone hold my hand,” Michael says, voice hoarse. “I feel like I’m going to throw up.”

Luke obliges, being next to him. Ashton feels much the same, though probably to a lesser degree. They watch anxiously as the teams take their last chances.

Nobody even comes close to shooting for the first half. It stays close to the middle of the field lengthwise, out to the sides widthwise. By the end of the second half, Calum is back, and pushing hard enough that Ashton can see his chest heaving. But finally, Calum takes the ball and starts pushing it up the field, feinting around other players weakly, and getting it stolen twice. It gets passed back to him, and the clock ticks down.

It’s one of those miracle moments you see in movies, with seconds left to go. Calum takes a final kick at the ball, at the same time another player kicks in the opposite direction, but Calum beats him to it, and the ball goes sailing towards the goal as the other player’s cleats rake across the side of his leg between his shorts and his shin guards. The gashes are bleeding before the ball finds its target. It hits the edge of the goalpost, and the crowd gasps, but by God’s mercy, if ever he did exist, it rolls into the goal.

The crowd screams as the buzzer blares. Ashton is screaming, too, hopping up and down and grasping Luke’s hand. But Michael is launching himself over the fences and onto the field, straight to Calum. He reaches him just as Calum is about to sink to the ground and grabs him before he can fall, and then in all their joy and blinding excitement, Calum catches him in a kiss.

Everyone’s eyes lock onto the two boys kissing in the middle of the field. Calum is crying and laughing, and he starts to sag in Michael’s grasp as his leg buckles under him. There’s blood leaking into his high sock, staining it. Michael sets him on the ground, dropping to his knees beside him as the trainer rushes out with bandages. Though the victory is fresh in the crowd’s mind, everyone’s focus is on Michael and Calum. Michael is wiping away the tears on Calum’s face. Tears of pain, of exhaustion, of joy, of relief. This is it; the whole school knows, now. The trainers are still wrapping his thigh by the time Luke and Ashton manage to fight their way onto the field.

“You did amazing,” Luke cries, throwing his arms around Calum’s neck. “Good job.”

“That was intense,” Ashton agrees. “I was afraid we weren’t going to win.”

“I’m so proud,” Michael says, getting in the trainer’s way as he tries to stay with Calum. “You did it.”

“I’m going to pass out,” Calum says, falling onto his back with an unsteady laugh. “Jesus, can someone get me some water and tell me if I stop bleeding?”

Luke grabs his water bottle from a teammate and hands it to him. The team is milling around, watching Calum get bandaged up on the field.

“God, I love you so much,” Calum groans, letting Michael hold his hand. “I guess we’re out now, huh?”

“We kind of fucked that up,” Michael laughs.

“I don’t care, I don’t care.” Calum mumbles it a few times under his breath. His chest still rises and falls erratically, though it’s beginning to slow. Michael bends down to kiss him again, and Calum laces his free hand in Michael’s hair. “Don’t leave me. I’m bleeding.”

“So dramatic,” Michael says, smiling fondly. “Don’t worry. I’m right here.”

 

* * *

 

_February 2012_

“Ash?”

Ashton opens his eyes and looks up at Luke. They’re lying in the fields and trying to absorb the last of the warm sun before the summer fades completely. Luke’s on his stomach on top of Ashton. They were kissing intermittently earlier, Luke pressing Ashton’s head back into the grass, both of them blissfully disguised by the tall daisy stalks, but Luke’s been quiet for a while.

“What’s up, babe?”

“I need to ask you something.” Luke props his chin on his hands. His blue eyes, nearly silvery in the light the way Ashton’s are golden, are fixed firmly on Ashton’s collarbone.

“Ask away.”

“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking,” Luke says, and waits for Ashton to hm before continuing. “Like, you and Mike and Cal are all leaving at the end of this year. And—I’ll be pretty lonely, won’t I?”

Ashton’s forehead pinches in concern. “You know I’ll Skype you all the time.”

“I know, I know, but there’s no reason really for me to stay here.”

Ashton struggles to follow his line of reasoning. “You’re not, like, talking about running away, are you?”

“No! No, definitely not.” Ashton is so glad that Luke has a head on his shoulders. “But there’s this art school, about an hour away on the coast. They take kids starting at 16. I’ll be the right age.”

“What’s the question?” Ashton traces Luke’s jaw with his thumb. “If you want to go, if you think you’ll be happier there, then go.”

“I won’t see you as much,” Luke says wistfully. “You’ll still come back for your family now and then, and I won’t be here anymore.”

“Babe, I want you to be happy,” Ashton says firmly, smiling to show he means it. “It just means I’ll have to make some trips down your way, too. You better apply, I know you’ll get in.”

“You think?” Luke smiles in relief and flops down on Ashton’s chest again. He looks so sweet in the sunlight, like something descended from above. Soft, beautiful. Ashton brings a hand up to rest in his golden hair. “I was hoping you’d understand.”

“I’m happy as long as you’re happy. Always.”

 

* * *

 

_April 2012_

The house is silent when Ashton gets back from school, unnervingly so. There’s not a sound to be heard, no Lauren, no Harry, no Mum. Just quiet that brings up the hair on the back of his neck. He can’t quite put a finger on what about it bothers him, since they could have gone to the store or something. But it’s unnatural.

“Mum?” he calls, waiting for a response. “Is anyone home?”

Nothing.

“Mum?”

His brow furrows. He walks down the hallway, preparing to drop his bag in his room. That’s where he finds his mum, and something else that has his gut wrenching and his jaw dropping in horror.

There’s absolutely nothing on his side of the room.

Not a bed, not a desk, not a dresser. No drum kit, no pictures, no posters, no stuffed animals, nothing. He doesn’t know where it all is, and when he finds his side of the closet empty too, fear slices through his stomach. He cannot fathom what is going on.

“Mum,” he cries, beginning to panic. “Mum, what have you done?”

She looks up at him with dead, loveless eyes. She must have been waiting for him to come home. “I heard you’ve been sneaking around with Luke,” she says quietly. “Under my nose for years.”

“You knew,” Ashton says desperately, getting a sense of what’s about to happen. He remembers this kind of fear, all through his childhood, that she’d find out, that she’d guess, and it’s been so long since he’s even _worried_ that he’s blindsided. All the confidence he’s gained over the years feels useless now. “You had to have _known_. God, I made it so obvious.”

“I want you out of my house,” she continues. “I have two kids to take care of.”

Ashton feels like his world is melting away before his eyes. “ _I’m_ your kid,” he says, trembling.

“You’re not my child.” She pauses. “Not anymore, at least.”

“You’re going to put me out because I kiss boys? Where am I going to go? I’m not even 18.”

“Maybe you can stay with your boyfriend,” she says icily.

“Where are Harry and Lauren, huh?” he lifts his chin, blinking back tears. “You make sure they weren’t here so they couldn’t see you disown their big brother? Didn’t want them to see you shame me?”

She doesn’t answer, so he keeps going.

“They’re not your kids. You didn’t raise them worth a damn. Ever since Warwick left, you’ve done jackshit. You are _dead inside_. You’re suddenly going to pull it together and become a real mother because you can’t _stand_ to have some fucking faggot kid under your roof?” Ashton laughs harshly.

“I have done the best I can,” she says, beginning to clench her fists. “You have no right to—”

“ _I_ have no right? I’m not your son, remember?” Ashton swipes at his eyes furiously. “I can say whatever the _fuck_ I want. I think you’re a weak excuse for a parent and always have been. You’re too bigoted to live in the same house as your own son. You’re a pathetic, sniveling bitch. What are you going to tell Harry and Lauren?”

“Get out of my house.” She pushes back her hair, shutting her eyes. “I want you out. Now.”

“Face reality, Mum. It’s 2012. Boys can kiss other boys. Boys can _fuck_ other boys. Boys can think other boys can be pretty.” Ashton shudders. “Boys can _be_ pretty.”

“ _Get out_.” She won’t look at him. He should feel good for making her feel small, to finally have said every toxic thought that’s made a home in his body. But he feels shattered, alone.

“Tell Harry and Lauren I love them,” Ashton says, and that’s it.

He’s numb afterwards, walking the streets in a state of shock. The tears dry over his cheeks, angry tears that fade away and leave him feeling vacant. He needs a plan. Somewhere to stay, food to eat, a job to get some clothes on his back.

He cannot face Luke.

Luke will take it on his own shoulders. He’ll say it’s because of him that Ashton is, officially, homeless. The word hasn’t sunken in yet; it’s a word he has always paired with unkempt, disheveled old men who sleep under highways. He would never have imagined becoming one of them.

He cannot imagine being forbidden to see his siblings, whom he has grown up with. His mother will smear his name as soon as he can, carve him out of the family. He’ll become a name they can’t utter in the house. What if he never sees them again? No more bedtime stories, no more homework help, no more “fun days” when their mum is working late and he lets them turn on the TV and eat pizza instead of leftovers.

She’s going to teach them to be equally homophobic. She’ll teach them to hate him, pollute every good memory they have of him. They look up to him, and she’ll take him off the pedestal.

But he can’t dwell on it. Right now he needs to focus on where he’s going to sleep for tonight.

He knocks on Michael’s door when the sky is starting to darken. His heart climbs into his throat when he tries to prepare himself to tell Michael. He tries to straighten his hair out and rub at his eyes, removing any dried tear stains.

Michael’s mum opens the door. She must recognize Ashton’s distress, because the first thing she says is, “Are you okay, hon?”

Ashton nods rapidly, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “I’m great,” he chokes out. “I’m wonderful. Can I, can I see Michael?”

“Come inside.” She allows him through. “Do you need anything? A glass of water?”

Ashton needs a home and a family and a plan, but it seems like quite a bit to dump on her, so he shakes his head. “I just need to talk to Michael.”

“He’s in his room,” she informs him. “You let me know if you need anything.”

Ashton nods gratefully and scrambles up the stairs. His chest aches and his whole body seems to hurt, a visceral reaction to the setback he’s just suffered.

Michael sits at his desk, headphones half on and watching a video. When Ashton comes in and he hears the door click, he pauses the video and pulls his headphones off, setting them on the desk and swiveling around in his chair.

“Dude, what’s wrong?” he asks, frowning deeply. “You look awful.”

Ashton finds his way to the bed and sits on the edge, bracing his hands on his knees and leaning forward. His tongue feels thick in his mouth as he answers. “I, um.” He swallows hard. “I need a place to stay for the night.”

“Yeah, sure, you can stay here,” Michael assures him without hesitation. He gets up and sits next to Ashton on the bed, putting an arm around him. “What happened?”

“I got kicked out.”

Michael stares at him for a good ten seconds before repeating, “Kicked out?”

“Yeah.” Ashton reaches up to rub away the dampness reforming at the corners of his eyes. “Um, she found out about me and Luke. She, she threw out all my stuff, even my bed, and—she’s kicking me out for good.”

“Holy shit.” Michael squeezes him tight, shocked. “I can’t believe—oh my god. I’m so fucking sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Tears stream down Ashton’s face. It’s not okay. Nothing is okay. But he has to be brave now. “I’m not mad about her, so much. I’m not pretending for anyone anymore. But Lauren and Harry—” He lets out a surprised sob, unprepared for how much saying their names aloud hurts. “You know she’s not going to let me see them again. She’ll probably tell them I was a disgrace and a freak and they’ll forget they loved me.”

Michael steadily rubs circles on his back. “They’re not going to forget they loved you, Ash. You’ve done so much for them.”

“And college. I can’t go. I have no money. I graduate in eight months, Mike. What the _fuck_ do I do?”

“I’ll help you figure it out,” Michael whispers. “It’s gonna be okay, everything’s gonna be okay.”

Ashton can’t remember the last time he cried this hard. It comes from deep in his chest, straight from his heart. He lays his head on Michael’s shoulder and cries for ages, letting Michael stroke his hair and back and murmur small comforts in his ear. It’s a relief at least that he can sleep here for the night. Eventually, Michael gets up to tell his parents that Ashton is staying the night. Ashton doesn’t eat dinner.

There’s plenty of space in the house, a whole extra bedroom for Ashton to sleep in, but Michael insists on sleeping on the floor and letting Ashton take the bed so he can keep an eye on him. Ashton is sort of glad, because he finds Michael’s presence familiar and soothing.

Ashton wakes up crying in the middle of the night, and Michael is already there drying his damp cheeks.

 

* * *

 

When Ashton wakes up, it’s late. _He’s_ late. Michael must have already gone to school without him. He wonders in a brief moment of panic why nobody woke him before it occurs to him that perhaps it was on purpose. He certainly needs the rest, and he’s sure Michael’s mum called him in sick and explained the situation. Can she do that? She’s not his legal guardian, after all. Which brings up more questions—what does Ashton do?

Despite feeling the kind of exhaustion that rests in his bones, Ashton drags himself from the bed and goes downstairs. His clothes are rumpled, leaving creases in his skin when he slept. He looks like a right mess, and should probably shower. He quickly texts Michael to ask permission, and Michael responds with _mi casa es su casa_. Ashton’s Spanish isn’t great, but he takes a shower anyway.

The water is scaldingly hot, running over his skin in rivulets. He washes his hair with Michael’s shampoo and conditioner and stays under the water for longer than necessary, sighing and thinking about his suddenly gloomy future. He gets out, dries himself off, and gets dressed back in the same clothes, his uniform. He hates to wear the same underwear for too long, but he really doesn’t have another option.

He grabs a banana downstairs and eats that on the edge of Michael’s bed, the thick fruit sliding down his throat rather slowly and painfully, as though he might choke at any second. He tosses the peel into the waste bin. Then he goes straight back to bed and lies there on his side, wrapped in blankets and staring at the wall.

Luke starts to barrage him with texts, obviously concerned. Ashton usually texts him if he’s sick, and Luke must be worried. Michael will explain it in due time, he supposes.

He needs to get a job at some point, probably soon, just to be able to get himself some clothes and basics. University is probably out of the question—too expensive. Even a vocational school might be difficult to scrape up the funds for.

He’s glad he didn’t have to face school today. Not Luke, not Calum. Not even Michael, who already knows. It’s not about pity, either. He just needs time to himself to think and adjust to his new situation.

He falls asleep for a short while and wakes up in the afternoon. He’s disoriented for a short while, thinking he’s at home when he wakes up and sees the white wall, but it comes back to him quickly as it did this morning that he’s never going to see his own wall again.

It does suck to have nothing. None of his belongings, none of the stuffed animals he kept on his bed that all meant something to him. It’s as if his memory was effectively wiped. Who’s to say he exists, if all he owns is what he has on his back and his schoolwork in his bag? It’s a bit of a dramatic thought, but that doesn’t mean it’s not at least a bit true.

The tiredness doesn’t leave, and the ache in his chest doesn’t cease as he hoped he would.

He wants to be happy. He’s free. He doesn’t have to pretend to be anything he’s not. He feels almost _guilty_ for being upset about it. How many times has he wished he didn’t have to sneak around, didn’t have to act like a different person at home? Why doesn’t he feel better now that he’s done? Is it even alright for him to miss his Mum, all things said and done?

Thoughts swirl and he struggles, pulling the blankets even tighter and struggling through the mess in his head. Something pounds against the side of his skull and the back of his eyes. Migraine.

By the time Michael comes home, Ashton’s feeling steadily worse. Two sets of footsteps travel up the stairs, and then he can hear Michael say, “Feeling okay?”

“Ash,” Luke says, and Ashton can hear the sorrow in his voice.

“Don’t.” Ashton hates the strain in his voice, the tightness in his throat. “It’s okay, really.”

“It’s not okay,” Luke swears hotly, coming to sit on the bed and rub Ashton’s hip. “You can come over anytime, okay? Mum wants to see you as soon as she can. Calum wanted to come over, but he had footy.”

“I’ll come over soon,” Ashton promises, shutting his eyes. He actually looks forward to seeing Liz, even though he’ll be so close to his house. “I just need some...time.”

“It’s going to be okay,” Luke says, laying down next to him. “I know it is. You have all of us.”

“Thanks.” Ashton takes a deep breath. “I’m okay, really.” He cracks a weak smile. “Just taking it all in.”

“Whatever you need,” Luke says. “We’re gonna get through this together.”

“It’s okay. Least I’m free now, right?” Ashton turns and pecks Luke quickly on the lips. “First kiss as a free man.”

“You are absolutely the strongest person I know,” Luke adds, and Michael nods in agreement. “If anyone can bounce back from this, it’s you. Don’t be scared.”

Ashton lets Luke wrap an arm around his middle, feeling for once like the smaller one in the relationship. And Luke’s right. He has to bounce back, and fast. There’s no time to feel sorry for himself.

 

* * *

 

He comes home with Luke the next day. He’s nervous, knowing he’s probably in for a lot of motherly hugs and awkward silences from Jack and Ben. He also hopes his mother doesn’t see him, because he’d rather slip out of her life altogether. But he can’t avoid Luke and his family forever, nor does he want to; they’re his family in all entirety now.

“Mum! I brought Ash!” Luke calls, dropping his bags by the door.

Ashton is immediately ambushed in a tight mother-bear hug. “Ash, hon, I’m so glad to see you,” Liz says, gripping him tighter than his own mother ever has. “Luke, go up to your room now.”

“Mum,” Luke whines. “Can’t I stay?”

“No, I want you to go up to your room. Hear me?”

Luke rolls his eyes and trudges up the stairs, reluctant. Ashton gradually extracts himself from the hug and sits at one of the high stools at the island.

“I was appalled to hear about your situation,” Liz says grimly. “I’m incredibly sorry that things have unfolded this way. I want to first and foremost make it clear to you that you are always welcome in this house and in this family, and that it is absolutely okay to be yourself here.”

“Thank you,” Ashton says quietly.

“I also want to let you know that if you need anything, I’ll do whatever I can to help. You’re staying with Michael, right?” Ashton nods. “Well, you can stay here as well any time you need to. Do you want to borrow some clothes for the time being? Some of Jack’s clothes might fit you, I think.”

“Yeah, thanks.” Ashton looks at the ground, voice small. He can feel the blush rising in his cheeks. Shame that he has to ask, shame that he _needs_ these things.

“Anything else?”

Ashton takes a deep breath and bites down on his lip. “I, uh,” he starts in a whisper. “Underwear.”

Liz nods, brisk and efficient. “I’ll get you some. Preference?”

Ashton blushes harder. “Boxers.”

“I’ll make a trip tonight. Now go on upstairs, Luke is probably waiting for you.”

Ashton stands and makes as if to go, but as he begins to push past, Liz pulls him in for another hug. “You know that you are as much my son as Luke is,” she says. “Don’t you ever forget that.”

 

* * *

 

As time stretches on, Ashton finds that he doesn’t miss much about home.

He’s surprisingly happy in Michael’s house. He’s set up in the guest bedroom, which, though sparse, is nicely furnished. It’s more than he could ask for; a bed, and space to himself. He has nothing of his own to put over the walls, and not much to put in the small dresser, but it’s nice to know that should he have something, he has space for it. There’s something oddly satisfying about his life being simplified like this.

He’s mainly wearing hand-me-downs from Jack, who has even graciously given him his old uniform blazer, which he still had lying around despite having graduated last year. He does all his own laundry and makes sure to clean up after himself.

The one thing he really misses most is Lauren and Harry.

He’s so accustomed to caring for them and to hearing them call for him, playing pretend together and buying them candies, that his life feels empty without them. He throws himself into his new job and tries to fill the void like that, and plays on the drums in the music room at lunch to distract himself. It’s been two weeks since he’s seen them.

But it feels good, mostly, to be out of his toxic home.

Good, that is, until Luke comes knocking to tell him, breathlessly, that the house has been put up for sale.

Ashton hadn’t anticipated it. He should have, because of course his mother wouldn’t want to live, much less let her _real_ kids grow up, in the same neighborhood as her gay son, and next door to his gay boyfriend. Ashton wouldn’t mind so much, except it means Lauren and Harry will be gone, and they could be moving anywhere. It means permanent separation.

That Friday, he has a plan. He needs to find them at the primary school, before they leave. He _has_ to see them. He can’t bear the thought of never, ever seeing them again. He never even got the chance to say goodbye.

Michael comes with him. They leave class early to be able to get there on time. They scan the crowds of kids leaving. Ashton is desperate to see their faces.

He spots them at the crosswalk, carrying their bookbags. Harry’s is dragging on the ground, the way that wears through the bottom and the way Ashton always chides him for. His heart clenches at the sight.

“Go now,” Michael whispers. “Quickly, before they’re gone.”

Ashton feels rooted to the spot. He hasn’t seen them in so _long_ , it seems. What if they’ve already been brainwashed? He wants to run to them, but his feet don’t move, He watches them cross, Lauren keeping Harry close behind her.

“Lauren!” It tears out of his chest in a desperate scream. “Harry!” He’s walking, walking, running, sprinting. They turn and freeze, eyes locking onto him, and then he’s throwing his arms around them and holding as tightly as he can. It knocks the breath out of his lungs, how much he needed to feel it.

“Where have you been?” Lauren demands, staring up at him with such betrayal it stings. “I thought you were gone forever.”

“I know, I know.” Ashton strokes back her hair and sinks to his knees on the dirty pavement, uniformed knees aching against the hard concrete. “I’m so sorry.”

“When are you coming back?” Harry asks, and Lauren darts him a nervous glance. Ashton swallows thickly.

“I don’t know, kid,” he mumbles. “I don’t think I’m coming home.”

“But you have to,” Harry insists, voice rising. “We’re moving. We can’t go without you.”

“You’re going to have to,” Ashton says, choked. “You can be brave for me, love, can’t you?”

“Mum said you can’t live with us anymore,” Lauren blurts out, lip quivering. “She said you did something bad.”

“Are you going to jail?” Harry asks, eyes widening.

“Is it because of Luke?” Lauren asks quietly.

Ashton tries to smile, but his eyes are brimming. He can’t possibly explain it to Harry, who is too young to understand. Lauren, maybe, but there’s no time for that. He has to say his goodbyes.

“I can’t come home with you,” he says, a tear slipping out. “I’m sorry. I love you guys so much, and I know you’re going to grow up and be amazing people.”

“But we’ll see you again,” Lauren says, “right?” She’s searching Ashton’s face, straining to find some comfort. He doesn’t want to cry in front of them. He wants to be strong and stoic, but he can’t find it in himself.

“No, love, this is goodbye.” He takes a shuddery breath. “Do something for me, okay? Do what you think is right. It doesn’t matter what Mum says is right, or anyone else. Trust yourselves. You can be whoever you want.”

“I don’t want you to go,” Harry wails. “I miss you.”

“I know, I know.” Ashton stands, bending and pressing a kiss to the top of his head. His tears drip onto Harry’s hair, and Harry rubs it away. “Wherever you go, I’ll be with you. I’m always going to be with you.” He kisses Lauren’s head, too, and hugs them both as tightly as he can.

It’s the hardest thing in the world to walk away, face soaked, but harder still to not look back.

 

* * *

 

_July 2012_

It takes a few weeks more to settle into his routine and do his best to move on and live his life. He’s come to terms with the fact that he’s going to have to go straight into work after school ends, because with his minimum wages, there’s no way it’s feasible for him to go. But it’s the way things are, and he might as well work as hard as he can so he can get by later. By the time July rolls around, he feels more a part of Luke’s family than ever he did of his own. He goes over for dinner quite often, and he has no more reason to hide his and Luke’s relationship, which means quite a bit of teasing from Luke’s brothers.

But it’s good, and Ashton is nothing but himself.

He’s even excited for his and Luke’s birthdays. Though he doesn’t expect much, he knows Liz will get him something too, and he’s just happy to be celebrating it with them. He spends the night at Luke’s the night before his own birthday, so when they wake up they can celebrate it together. Calum and Michael and their parents are coming over later that night for dinner and presents.

Luke’s bedroom door bursts open early in the morning, and they wake up to Jack and Ben yelling, “Happy birthday!” before realizing that they’re sleeping in bed together and deciding to back out of the room and give them time to get dressed. Ashton is, incidentally, wearing one of Jack’s old t-shirts, one that’s particularly soft and in good shape. Luke has a pleated white skirt, coupled with baby pink thigh-high socks and a black sweater that he’s wearing specially for Ashton. He looks particularly cuddly, and Ashton gives him a big kiss.

“I can’t believe you’re 18,” Luke says with a big smile. “I’m so proud of you.”

“ _I_ can’t believe you’re all making such a big deal out of it,” Ashton says, though he’s secretly touched.

“It’s a big one! You’re an adult, now.” Luke pulls at his arm. “Come on, Mum’s making a big breakfast.”

Ashton feels the best he has this whole year as he sits at the kitchen island with the other three boys and lets the whole family sing him Happy Birthday while they bring out a giant stack of pancakes. He beams, blushing hard.

They visit the daisy fields as usual, and this time Ashton revels in the privilege of being able to wear it when they go back inside. He has the freedom to be pretty like Luke, to hold Luke’s hand. Luke can lay across Ashton’s lap while they watch TV and be close like this, like Ashton used to dream of.

But the best part of the day is the evening, when they’re all done with dinner and passing around presents. He’s gotten some clothes, a pair of headphones and some gift cards that he figures he could really use so far.

“Michael, you want to get the last present?” Calum says, nudging him. Michael’s eyes light up and he digs into his hoodie pocket. He pulls out an envelope, labeled _From the Hemmings, Clifford, and Hood Families_. Ashton raises his eyebrows, bewildered.

“What’s this?” he says, fingering the flap. “You all—?”

“Open it,” Liz urges. “I think you’ll like it.”

Ashton rips the seam. Inside are three substantial cheques—one from each family. He looks up, stunned. “This is for me?” he says softly.

“For college,” Michael says, bouncing up and down in his chair. “Calum didn’t need his college fund because he’s going on a scholarship, and the rest of us threw in what we could. It’ll cover, like, two years.”

Ashton can feel his throat start to tighten, and he blinks rapidly. “Thank you,” he whispers, overcome. Luke lays his head on Ashton’s shoulder and presses a butterfly kiss to his jaw. “I can’t—thank you so much. How can I pay you back?”

“You don’t have to,” Liz says, touching his shoulder. “Everyone has a right to an education. Teachers’ motto.”

“Happy birthday, Ash,” Calum says with a smile. “I hope it was the best.”

It was.

 

* * *

 

_December 2012_

Ashton really can’t believe he’s made it through the year. Things had looked so grim in April that he’d had his doubts. He’s incredibly lucky to have had a support system to fall back on, but it’s like Luke had said—he’s been there for all of them in the past, and now they’re all giving back.

The Year 12 formal is rapidly approaching, and Ashton went privately to Liz to talk about it. She dug up an old formal vest that Jack never wore as well as a nice tie, and Ashton gets himself a black dress shirt and decides on skinny jeans.

A week before formal, Liz helps him put together a picnic, and he takes Luke out to the fields. He spreads a blanket over a low patch and they sit, talking and laughing. Ashton is nervous, though he has little reason to be.

The sandwiches are cut into hearts, and Luke raises his eyebrows. “Very romantic,” he teases.

“I would hope so,” Ashton replies airily. “It takes effort to get perfect hearts, you know.”

A few days ago, Michael had asked Calum to the dance with a giant poster, a teddy bear, and a bunch of roses. They’d just won the championship again. The whole football team had been in on it, and they’d all blocked Calum’s view until Michael was in place in the center of the field. Calum had cried. For the second year in a row.

Ashton knew Luke wouldn’t want something so public, but he still deserves something good, something nice. Only the best. The sun is out, a nice touch, and everything is perfect.

When Luke reaches for the napkin, he finds a tiny little promise ring with a heart in the middle. He looks up at Ashton, a smile growing.

Ashton props himself up on one knee and grins, clearing his throat. “Luke Robert Hemmings. May I have the honor of escorting you to the dance next Saturday?”

Luke throws himself into Ashton’s arms. “Please, sir, the honor would be all mine.”

Ashton beams and kisses Luke’s cheek. “Will you promise me something else?”

Luke nods. “Yeah?”

“I wanna marry you someday,” Ashton insists. “When we’re older, and when I’m out of school and holding down a solid job and maybe we have a place together, I want to be yours forever. Rings and flowers and walking down the aisle together, the whole nine yards. I really, really want that with you.”

“I’ve known since I was seven that I wanted to marry you,” Luke says, hugging him tightly. “You own my heart, body, and soul.”

 

* * *

 

When the day of the actual dance rolls around, Ashton is filled with nervous excitement. He’s jittery, unable to sit still. He’s been trapped in Luke’s kitchen for an hour, forbidden by everyone to go upstairs. Liz and Jack’s girlfriend, Celeste, are putting makeup on Luke and making sure he’s ready, and Ashton’s not allowed to see. Ben’s keeping him company, sitting at the island and reassuring him.

“You’re going to be fine,” Ben says breezily. “You’ve been doing this for years.”

“I can’t dance,” Ashton says, though that’s the least of his worries. He wants this to be perfect, for both of them. Especially for Luke. Luke’s so excited about this, getting to dress up and everything. Ashton can’t imagine how lovely he’s going to look when he finally comes down those stairs.

Jack appears at the top of the stairs, cupping his hands around his mouth and mimicking a trumpet. “I present to you the prettiest princess to ever grace the Earth.”

Luke steps out shyly at the top of the stairs, hands clasped in front of him, suffering a thorough hair-ruffling from Jack. Celeste pops out right after, capping an eye pen and looking pretty proud. The makeup is subtle enough that Ashton can hardly see it from here; Luke’s not much of a showboat. He’s dressed up in a long, floor-length, lacy skirt and a matching white crop top. He’s small enough that only a bit of his stomach peeks out. His hair is clipped to the side under a flower barrette. Liz hurries down the stairs to get a camera.

“I present to you the man of the year,” Ben imitates, shoving Ashton forward, “whose good looks I had absolutely nothing to do with.”

“Oh, you both look so nice,” Liz gushes. “Luke, come down here. I need to take pictures.”

Luke hops down the stairs to stand with Ashton. Ashton slips an arm around his waist and smiles big for the photo. When Liz puts it down, he murmurs in Luke’s ear, “You look so pretty, Luke.”

“You look good too,” Luke whispers.

“Boys, if you’re ready to go,” Liz says, nodding at Jack. “Car’s in the front.”

“I can’t believe you’re making me drive,” Jack adds, rolling his eyes. “I promise I’m just as embarrassing as Mum.”

“I’m not embarrassing,” Liz insists. “I’m the picture of perfection.” Ben snorts at that, receiving a well-earned slap upside the head.

Ashton spends most of the car ride drinking in the sight of Luke, dolled up and hands folded in his lap. He’s never seen Luke with eyeliner before, not even this gentle, natural brown that he’s glad Celeste chose, because it brings out the gold tones in Luke’s hair and eyelashes. Luke’s got on some sort of lip gloss that makes his lips look pinker and prettier and shinier and even more kissable than usual, and for the first time, Ashton thinks he actually seems older. More mature, perhaps; it would be strange not to acknowledge that Luke is 16 now, body lengthening in new ways that Ashton rather likes. He’s glad he’s gotten to see Luke like this before he leaves for uni.

And more than that, he feels somehow blessed to be not only loved by this work of art, but to have been able to witness the transformation from child to awkward pre-teens to a solid kind of grace. Ashton wonders, sometimes, what his life would have been like without Luke. He’d still be in the closet, probably, to even himself. He wouldn’t have embraced his individuality without Luke’s unknowing example, either. Mostly, he thinks his life would have been emptier and colder, and he wouldn’t have even known it.

The dance itself is nice. It’s in a pretty hotel, something the public school actually bothers to pay for. The music is okay, and the people are okay. But Ashton finds himself outside with Luke anyway, in a courtyard they might not be allowed into, the stars watching on as they dance alone to the strains of the slow song they just started playing inside. His hands are on Luke’s waist as they dance, Luke’s hands resting lightly on his shoulders, his skirt flaring out around him as they spin.

It reminds him of standing in the backyard on Christmas Eve and reaching for Luke, begging to be able to give the boy who had given him freedom and succor something that would count. It reminds him of kisses in the dead of night, their windows open and their beds empty. It reminds him of sleeping by the ocean with Luke and longing to just close the inches between them and kiss him.

“Are you happy?” Luke whispers, brushing the back of his knuckles against Ashton’s jaw. Ashton sighs and shuts his eyes, holding him closer.

“You have no idea.”

 

* * *

 

When Ashton ascends the stage in his blue robes and holds his diploma in his hand, he feels worth the world.

It doesn’t matter that his mother and siblings aren’t yelling his name in the stands, although he would have wanted it that way. Luke, Calum, and Michael’s families are all yelling his name. That’s enough, because they’re his family now.

Luke has made him a final daisy crown, the last one Ashton will wear for a long time. They won’t return to the fields for some time, something Ashton doesn’t know yet. It sits amongst his curls in place of his graduation cap.

The Hemmings’ take him to dinner to celebrate. Ashton feels surrounded and loved. The daisies are wilting, but he won’t take it off. Ashton goes back to Michael’s, and the daisies sit on his bedside table.

The day Ashton leaves for university, Luke wakes him up early and brings him back out to the fields. Where they began, where they end. Although, really, it’s just the end of a chapter; Ashton knows his whole future will be with Luke.

Luke sits in Ashton’s lap, resting against his chest. His head nestles in the crook of Ashton’s neck, his eyes completely shut. He lets Ashton hold him and lean his head against his own, and they don’t talk for a long time. Ashton’s hand tangles in Luke’s, memorizing the feel of it before he has to separate from Luke for the first time in his whole life. He has not known a life away from Luke for some ten odd years now, and the thought of it is frightening and unpleasant. Still, he’s not worried they’ll fall out of love. He could never stop loving Luke.

Ashton thinks back on when they met, when he was nothing but roots, nothing but an idea. Just beginning to poke through the soil. How Luke had raised him, how he’s suffered through so many cold winters. Blossoming, finally, and growing into the beauty he was made for.

Ashton is a paper daisy. He’s a whole field full of them. He is the sky, the grass; he is love and light and sex and nature. He is a body, a mind, a soul. He is as small as a speck of dirt and as omnipresent as sunlight. He is everything, and nothing at all.

Ashton is beautiful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one more epilogue-type chapter, but their story is more or less done :)  
> UPDATE: I HAVE DECIDED NOT TO WRITE AN EPILOGUE AS I FEEL IT IS NOT NECESSARY AND I AM STRUGGLING WITH IT TOO MUCH. SORRY <3 <3 <3 THIS IS THE END  
> I hope you loved this story as much as I loved writing it. it was quite a journey but thank you guys loads and loads for reading. i've met some truly amazing people thanks to this fic and I am absolutely overwhelmed with the reaction. huuuge thanks to @barelyirwin bc she is my life and soul and got me through this  
> PLEASE COMMENT i wanna know what you thought of this  
> find me at @clingyluke on tumblr if ya have questions or wanna talk about this fic :)  
> thank you!!! xxxxx


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